


Dragon's Tail

by WeasleyWench



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Drag, M/M, Non-magical AU, OOC, Some D/s elements, badly written lol, cross-dressing, first fan fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 16:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 183,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/WeasleyWench
Summary: Harry, after Ginny leaves him with herpes, learns to cope with life and his new attraction to a man. Complete!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my first official fan fic. I figured I would post it again. It's terrible, though. Lots of SPaG issues, extra writing, and probably even worse writing in general. But I learned from it. It was my first plotted story. So, yeah... I was looking to convert this to original fic, but that proved to be a chore... OMG did it ever. Anyway, enjoy my first crapfest!

Chapter 1: Dragon’s Tail

 

The streets never seem to end as I make my way towards my destination: 15800 W. Raven Rd. Long streets, one after another, raise high in my vision, but I need this. Fever consumes my body and I shake, feeling like the flu has finally found me. What I didn’t know was that the flu never feels this bad. Drops of sweat fall into my eyes and I shake them away mockingly as I re-situate my glasses. One foot, then the other pounds against the pavement and even through my fevered insanity I feel something real. Each ventricle and atrium does its job, and if I stop and slow my breathing, I swear I feel the blood rushing back and forth. I feel the aorta pumping, though, I could be completely barmy at this point. 

All around me pavement stretches as far as my tired eyes can see. Shop after shop litters the sides of the roadway, and I walk on. I don’t know why I decided walking would make me feel better, but I did. I continue on, feeling an odd sense of strength in knowing I am only one block away from my destination. Though that block means I am walking over a mile. I must take a taxi home. I don’t know why I care though; there is no one there to go home to. Only another open play book that I can’t remember the title for, and a half empty bottle of gin, begging for me to finish it. 

Why gin, I will never know. It just seems so perfect that it is so dry. Bombay Sapphire is the only brand I drink. I owe that to Ginny. She drank it like water on the weekends when we partied. At least before…. 

Finally, my breathing becomes ragged and uncomfortable from the fever-induced weakness. I am a stage actor for Christ’s sake. I have stamina, wits, and I’m so poor I am now on my way to Pride County Health Centre to understand this sudden sickness. For a day or more I've felt it, each little inkling indicated the flu, but for once I hadn’t vomited yet. As I stop to catch my breath, a sign catches my attention. It is a simple sign, one I guess someone created on their home computer, but it draws my eyes. In large flamboyant lettering the flyer reads: The Dragon’s Tail. I assume it is a nightclub, but by the photos, you would think it a strip club. Scantily clad women prance about, and large crowds surround a small stage that welcome all in attendance to enjoy the new found freedom nightlife offers.

I snort. I feel it and quickly look around to see if anyone notices, but people shove by me without a second glance. It is a terrible feeling to be so ignored. Have I fallen so hard from the last production that I am no longer publicly lauded for my ability to bring the most masculine of men to tears? The last line of text catches my attention. For some reason four words dance in my field of vision, and even through the sickened haze, I find myself almost wanting to follow the arrows that lead to the club. Come get your Drag-on!

At that moment, I don’t understand, and I am blissfully ignorant. Understanding truly doesn't matter, so I look at the shop and smile at the little girl playing in the window. A pristine white dress adorns a sweet youth with all the sugar and spice the gods themselves couldn’t have formed from clay. Her two front teeth are missing, but her smile is angelic, and it brings another smile to my face. I wonder if that means that maybe my fever is imagined. But then in the cool September sun, I shiver and start to burn with fire again. I know I need water, but I don’t dare spend the last of the money in my pocket. With luck, I will be given a strong antibiotic and be on my way. 

The Yellow Rose is the shop. I wonder what it is, but the thoughts leave when I feel weakness dragging me towards the concrete surface of the sidewalk. I know I need to get going. At the corner of each block is a dipped walkway that makes it easier for people to transition from sidewalk to road as they cross en masse. Executives storm through the chaotic rhythm that only Scottsland can offer. It makes me smile; this is home. No matter how much I loathe the Dursleys for bringing me here, this is home now. At least I went to a good college and did something with my life. 

But my life won’t mean much if I don’t make it to the damn Health Centre soon. It is odd to think of this city as once the home of the largest American Indian Nation. It is so fitting that a city this large can be named after a European country and not the rightful peoples of the continent, but I can’t change the world. I am only one man with messy black hair and green eyes that everyone loves. Sometimes I think I don’t love myself enough or else I wouldn’t be walking my arse to the Health Centre and not driving my car. 

I love that car, no matter how broken, beaten and abused she is. I named her Black Magic because it was with her that I met Ginny. Ginny Weasley, ginger-haired goddess that makes me want to come just looking at her. I ran out of gas one night on I-89 and she stopped, willing to help some hapless soul that was too stupid to stop and refill his gas tank. I don’t mind after the fact. I praised the gods for years for bringing her into my life. She is vibrant, wild and loved to experience so much that I was never bored. Most of the time researching my roles at the Community Theatre meant a wild role playing adventure of some kind, a way to get me in the mood of the boring parts of my job.

I like getting into people's minds and playing a different part. Everyone expects so much at times that I forget I am only one man. At twenty-five years old, I am still trying to find my calling. Yes, I am a brilliant actor, but I am not satisfied with my current position. Our techs are limited, so all actors help with lights, stage and costumes. Thankfully I attended one of the top theatre arts universities in the country. The curriculum emphasizes learning all aspects of the field, so even if you are an actor, you learn how to sew and design a costume, even if you don’t like it. 

My favourite part of the theatre is becoming someone else. For upwards of two hours or more a night during a run, I can become an entirely different person and forget all of the little things in my life. It isn’t as though I take my life for granted. Hardly. I just wish it was different sometimes. I wish that the Dursleys had stayed in England because even if the weather is something I could have done without, it was comfortable. I called it home, but my alliances have changed – America is now home. I am a naturalized citizen now, and ready to partake of the American Dream, only I have no clue what that was supposed to be. 

My accent startles many, because even in big cities like this, there are minority groups that stuck together. The Japanese stay in their part of town along with the Irish, Italian, Chinese, Indian and whatever Natives are left. No one mentions the African-American population, at least not without contempt. And the true Unspeakables of our little dominion are those of Islamic decent. I hate this little world sometimes. It is narrow and my eyes are not tunnel driven like the rest of the people. It is sad really. 

I finally catch my breath enough to finish the long trek to the Health Centre. Only half a mile more and I can check myself in with the After Hours Emergency division. It is a Saturday; that’s the only reason I am forced to go “After Hours”. To these people, sickness can wait until Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. but they aren’t fooling me. Southern America is an unfriendly place really, and I want nothing to do with it most of the time. In reality, I use these people. They are the money that allows me to eat, to drink and drive from one job to the next without walking. 

I can’t help but feel like an absolute prat walking around these streets. The city is like one large dustbin, dirty and unkempt like a crack whore’s wardrobe. I don’t know what I expect, but my cousin claims this is the place to be. Me, I couldn't care less. I just want to make it to the next phase of life without another problem. I have enough of those. Eviction notices, delinquent accounts on a never-ending list of credit cards I sought when the theatre scene wasn’t dry. Now all they want are pale faces with light hair, and I have neither. 

My only unique quality is the vibrant green eyes that hide behind my rounded glasses. Ginny complimented me on them often, and I wonder if I did the same in return. Did I tell her I loved her enough, did I listen enough? Men are always accused of such things, but I think I was pretty damn good at listening when she had had a hard day. Maybe it’s just that all of the days seemed hard, so I stopped caring. 

I step onto the black pavement outlined by white and yellow lines as the little box on the corner flashes indicating it is OK to cross. I stumble through, wishing like hell that I had driven the five blocks through the messy traffic. This city is always busy. Petrol is over four dollars a gallon, and I barely have fifty-dollars to make it until my unemployment check arrives in two days. My cupboards are bare, and I spend too much time rambling on my cell phone with the theatre director. 

Only a few hundred feet left, and I will be at my destination. Who knows why I even bother, but my fellow actors insisted that I get myself checked out. So, here I am, on my way to another place I don’t want to be. I suppose one could dog-ear my life by the places that I didn’t want to be, there are so many. There are fewer places I want to be, though, and I am still having trouble coming to grips with that. 

How can a Summa Cum Laude graduate not want to go places? Am I so content with mediocrity that even the mention of bigger and better makes my skin crawl? There is only one point in my life that I ever truly felt alive, and that was when I was in school. I spent a lot of time performing, but I was also doing something productive. As part of my course of study, I was required to commit to at least twenty hours a week with a local school, teaching them the basics of drama, stage, make-up or just building sets. Students are asked to take up the tuition of the primary and middle school students because there wasn’t enough money to support arts programmes. It wasn’t much, but it was worth it, and I would trade millions of dollars just to have that feeling again. I felt alive then. I was always surrounded by smiling faces that were genuine, and each student left my care with a new skill or at least hope. 

If I could offer hope to the entire population of this city, I would spread my arms wide and jump from the highest building if such a sacrifice would bring about good things. However, I know in the end that my sacrifice would be for selfish reasons, and that is to stop feeling so damn inept at everything. Sure I am confident and poised on stage. There is nothing like standing in the middle of an auditorium full of adoring fans, but it isn’t enough. It doesn’t fulfil the gap inside me. I think that is what I hate the most, the lack of fulfilment I feel with daily life. 

Sometimes I teach classes at the local Recreation Centre, but it doesn’t bring in a lot of money. Most of the people that attend the classes are like me. They want to find an escape from their delirious lives, and for one afternoon a week, I give them that. We talk philosophy of plays, theory behind acting techniques and which are the most practical for the piece we are working on. I am a method actor, but I am also highly familiar with Meisner. It took all of my energy to complete Meisner exercises most of the time, but I did it, and I came out of it a better person. 

I finally reach the entrance of the Health Centre. It’s a long, flat building that houses three medical disciplines for the indigent: General Practise, Dental, and Psychological. At this building, they can take care of anything from delivering a baby to making sure your psychosis is properly monitored. Personally, I have never been to any of the shrinks, but I thought about it in the past. I wonder if maybe I am suffering from severe depression, but try to force the thoughts away most of the time, reminding myself that if I wake up everyday and walk around with even half a smile, I can’t be that depressed.

My logic is flawed. 

I enter through the General Practise doors and walk down the long hallway that leads to the reception area. I have been here before, but it was only to get the necessary documentation for entrance into Catawba College. The carpet is grey and speckled with little black loops to make it appear less dirty from the large amount of traffic that sees this place. Inside, I hate looking at this place with its institutional grey wallpaper that if you follow the walls up, it leads to fluorescent lights that always hurt my eyes. The ceiling is so basic I wonder if Spiderman could stick to its flat and simple surface. 

I arrive at the desk, where a large glass window separates me from the overweight receptionist. Her face is rounded and caked with more base than I care to imagine. Even on stage we don’t wear that much. Her eyelids are smeared with a royal blue eye shadow that makes me want to cringe. It makes me feel bad for all the animals that were experimented on so that this woman could make herself look better than she does with the assistance of powered make-up that should have been left on the shelf. Her scrubs are basic, thank god. Her face is blinding enough. Her cheeks should be scrubbed very well every night. Her pores are full of black dirt and oils, and it makes me sick. When her ruby red lips turn into a false smile, I scoff. This woman looks as though she belongs in a burlesque show, not as a receptionist at a medical facility. Even if she is a nurse, then shame on the poor fool who hired her.

Her podgy hand reaches out and moves the glass aside. She smiles for real. It is a shame her face is covered with, quite literally, a mask. Her smile makes her attractive and warm, unlike so many of the professionals I know. Her eyes are a brilliant cobalt blue that captures my attention. I would love to have children with eyes like that. 

“Name?” she asks with a thick accent. It almost sounds more like she added two 'A’s' and a ‘I’ that shouldn’t be there. Her words are long, and I begin to wonder how she got here.

“Harry James Potter,” I reply. On stage, I am forced to use an American accent, but when I am out, my British pride remains. I like to dance vocal tangos with women as they admire my sweet Surrey drawl. I am enigmatic, and I like it that way. 

“Date of birth?”

“31 July, 1980”

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

“Almost 8 years.”

“Fill this out. Do you have insurance?”

“No.”

“Billing will speak with you after your appointment to set up a payment schedule. Have a seat; the nurse will call you soon.”

“Thanks.”

I sit down on one of the many uncomfortable chairs and wait. All around me are sick people, women, children and men who looked more strung out than laundry. I can’t suppress the shiver of discomfort that surrounds me in this place. To occupy my time, I grab one of the many magazines littering the round, white tables and wait. 

Maybe an hour passes, I’m not sure. I finally gave up reading when my body started to shake more. I am on the verge of falling asleep when I hear my name roll off the lips of a beautiful brunette that reminds me of a school mate back in Surrey. Hermione Granger. We kept in contact over the years, I don’t know how, but we did. She ended up studying at the same school I did. She got her B.F.A. and graduated Magna Cum Laude. Everyone expected that from the most studious of women, though. 

She and Ginny’s brother Ron ended up getting together, which I always thought was funny. They were complete opposites: She studied all the time and he partied all the time. He was on the football team and she was on the dance team. She respected art, literature and all of the sophisticated points in life, and Ron, he got wasted on torn pages of Macbeth, sticky, green marijuana adhering to the small typeface. 

I walk gingerly towards the woman and she smiles brightly, taking me to be weighed and check my blood pressure. After everything checks out, she takes my temperature, which turns out to be a whopping 105. I feel every bit of that sickened curse running through my veins and am grateful when she ushers me to one of the many examination rooms. I answer all her questions to the best of my ability and wait. My chart goes in a box outside the door and a red tab is flipped. I am ordered to strip, and wait for the doctor.

Another quarter of an hour passes and the familiar knock of a practised hand pounds against the door and in strides a young, handsome man. At least he looks young for a doctor. His black hair is neat and sculpted, so far from my own. His white lab coat is clean and so crisp I wonder if I touch it if it will crack. I muse about Theodore Nott, Severus’ stage manager as I think about the contrast of my hair and the doctor’s. Nott once threatened to cut all of mine off and force me to wear wigs through every performance if I couldn’t find a way to tame the mess. 

“What seems to be the problem today, Mr Potter?” His voice is even and deep, like a bass drum. 

“Well, since yesterday I have had a fever that won’t go away, and I ache all over. This morning it hurt when I urinated, but other than that, I seem to be alright,” I say, feeling flushed. 

“OK, well let’s take a look,” he says, digging in his pockets for that evil medical popsicle stick that always makes me gag. My tongue is depressed and he shines his hand light into my throat. Each poke and prod is irritating, but it needs to be done. He insists that he check my lymph nodes, so I lay back on the table and allow him the time to inspect. Each press feels heavy, but I don’t speak. He notices my winces, though, and says he want to run tests for possible STD’s. When the nurse comes in, I think I am going to die. At least the doctor took care of shoving that horrible swab into my urethra as she watched. 

“Mr Potter, I am a little concerned about the amount of swelling in your groin. I am going to run some tests and see if anything comes back. Your symptoms are alarming. Just get dressed, and we can have the results ready within the hour. I can prescribe the proper medications once we know more.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I dress quickly before they even step out. I’m not shy. There is no need to be in my line of work. You work nude on shows, you change with the rest of the cast; it isn’t anything new to me.

An hour of chills wracking my body and feeling the strange stares of the others in the room, and the nurse finally calls my name again. They lead me back to the room I was in previously, and the doctor meets with me almost immediately. 

“Mr Potter, your preliminary tests indicate that you have contracted an STD.”

“What? What is it?”

“You have genital herpes.”


	2. A Job

Chapter 2: A Job

 

After the doctor hands me various pamphlets of information on support groups, frequently asked questions and reminders that now would not be a good time to have sex, I vaguely remember stumbling to the pharmacy on the Medical Centre’s campus. I hand them all my paperwork with the doctor’s signature, and then the indigent claim forms, and am soon on my way with a new shiny bottle of purple pills that they promised would take the aches, pain and insanity away. There are actually three bottles, but I don't know what the others are for. My arse hurts from the shot they gave me, and I need to get home. Ginny is going to explain this to me, even if I have to fly to Switzerland to get the answers. Who knows what country she’s actually in; all I know is I waste valuable minutes on my cell phone and it costs more every time I ring her overseas. I have a damn good plan, but even that doesn’t take the sting of almost two dollars a minute out of the monthly bill. 

I quickly step outside and a taxi is waiting. I guess the staff called for me. Good, at least I won't have to wait to hail one. I settle into the backseat and close my eyes. 

Ahem. 

What an irritating sound. I hate it when people clear their throats to gain attention. Turning around and looking at me while speaking a few words would bring about the same outcome. It is rude to clear your throat. 

I look up at the driver, an East Indian man wearing a white turban. He must need to know where I am going. So much for the clinic informing the cabbie; now I have to speak. I don’t want to. I am too tired.

“Twelve, Parkwood Court,” I said.

“Very good, sir.”

His smile is large lipped and friendly, which is a change from most of the cabbies I have met in this city. Most of them are rude and smell of sex and musky oils that I don’t recognise. This man smells of curry. He reminds me of home and shops with chicken vindaloo takeaway. I lean my head back and try to rest in the slowly moving traffic that leads to my tenth floor flat. They call them apartments here, but I still refer to it as my flat. It used to be the flat Ginny and I shared. Now it is a ransacked mess of pizza boxes, beer bottles, costumes, playbooks and various other items I haven’t cleaned up in weeks. 

I want to talk to Gin now, but I think better of it and wait until the driver finally stops in front of my building. In this twelve-story building, I live like a king. At least that is what everyone thinks. Behind the tall windows and sand coloured stone is an intricate web of deceit and illicit affairs. Ginny and I seemed to be the only unmarried couple that knew more about fidelity than the Pope himself did. Neither of us is terribly religious, but Ginny is Catholic, even if not practising. I grew up with the Church of England – I don’t practise. 

I quickly pay the cabbie his fifteen-dollar fare for taking me two blocks and don’t give a tip. I can’t afford to tip him, and in my mind, I should have been able to get at least three rides for that price, but this is Scottsland, and as far as big cities are concerned, this is the cornerstone. The man smiles, and I see his straight, white teeth for the first time. I wonder if my teeth look that good. I am jealous. I close the door quickly, trying to smile, but I still feel like shit. There is no reason to be friendly if I don’t feel well. I will not put the mask on today.

A plush, red carpet meets my feet at the sidewalk as I step through the doors, held open by a young man named Neville. He is friendly enough and comes from wealth. We talk a lot when I come home late. He is tall and podgy, but always wears a friendly smile. Short, well-kept brown hair adorns his head and chocolate-brown eyes shyly evaluate everyone that enters and exits. I once asked him why he was working here if he came from such a wealthy family and he just smiled, eyed one of the trophy wives of the many businessmen that crowded the building, and shrugged. I knew he was either fucking them all or none of them, or was working on some personal project. I mean, I’ve met quite a few graduate students of Sociology who spend half their lives living in polyamorous relationships just so they could study every aspect and how society viewed them. It reminds me of Kinsey and I couldn’t help but smile. I felt like I know a secret about my door attendant now.

I stride over the threshold of the glittering gold doors and inhale the scent of the fresh flowers around me. A large, gilded table stands at the centre of the entrance. A large vase of freshly picked flowers welcomes all to the inner walls of this palace of sin. A bit dramatic, yes, but it is true. Some very strange people live here, but the avant-garde stockbroker and internet salesmen are all rich enough that no one cares. The floor to this erection dedicated to carnal desires is covered with golden tiles and rich maroon pillars and walls. Paintings cover most of the empty wall space along with a large line of post boxes, also gold. There is a desk for visitors, but mainly a private security firm keeps the riffraff out and the secrets in. 

If you have a visitor that isn’t seen often, they call your flat and announce the person along with any other pertinent details in order to discredit the new arrival. Crabbe and Goyle are friendly enough, but everyone that entered this building knows not to fuck with them. They were rumoured to be personal bodyguards of some Mafia boss, but no one cared or questioned as long as disputes that occurred within these twelve floors stayed in this building. It is a stipulation in the housing contract that these two are in essence police, and that signing it means that with proper cause, they can investigate your home. I didn’t like that, but Ginny seemed to think it would be useful once we had children.

The lift was old, gated and I never feel safe in it, but the building manager, Kingsley, swore by it. Much like the rest of the building, the lift was maroon and gold with hints of white around the edges. A large print of ‘Starry Night’ adorns the back wall, and I appreciate it. It reminds me of a place I should be, not where I am. I get in, close the gate, press the small button with a ‘ten’ in the centre, and wait as the gears whirr to life, taking me up. 

I feel my cell vibrating in my pocket, but I ignore it. I am not in the mood to speak to anyone, not after the news I heard at the clinic. One doesn’t just feel happy about learning they have genital herpes, especially when they were faithful to the same person for nearly six years. I need to call Ginny. I will do it when I am calm, but right now, I need to think. I need to read and learn as much as I can before I make myself sound like a complete prick. She’s seen my moods, but it didn’t mean I directed those feelings of insecurity and animosity at her. Being an actor allows me a certain sense of ambiguity wherever I go, but I leave that at the door when I arrive home. I am expected to be moody and maladjusted, so I allow the media to see that from time to time, even if I hate playing just another part.

The building theme ends abruptly when I step into my flat. Officially, it is apartment four at number twelve, Parkwood Court, but it is my flat. I have three other neighbours, all single, two men and one woman. Seamus Finnigan, Lee Jordan and Katie Bell live quiet lives, much like me. They are artists of some sort, but professionally they are stockbrokers, professional athletes, and Katie, the novelist. She writes cheesy romance novels for a living, using the pen name Godric’s Goddess. No one knows what it means, but it is endearing. 

“Honey, I’m home!”

It is stupid to be sentimental now, but I can’t help it. The emptiness just begs to be taunted and I need a small laugh. The door closes behind me softly and my shoes click on the soft pine floor. I walk slowly and calculatedly towards the living room. At this point, I am so tired I have to think to make my body react. I’m exhausted, and feeling the fever breaking makes me want to sleep. On my right, my beautifully arranged living room sits, cluttered with boxes, cans, bottles and clothes. I need to hire a house cleaner when I start my next show; I hate cleaning. Strike is possibly the worst part of working in theatre, but the pay is damn good when you have an impressive show running. 

Vibrations attack my leg through my trousers again and I ignore it. I don’t need to answer to anyone right now. I just need to sleep. I wonder if I should go upstairs at all or just crash on the couch, but my body answers for me, forcing me to the floor before I can take another step. At least there are blankets on the back of the couch; I should be okay for a while. I crawl to the nearest couch, overlooking the city, and settle down. I swear the moment my eyes drop closed I am asleep.

*****

I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but it is dark out and I feel like death. My body is cold and clammy or maybe it’s just normal again. I no longer feel like fire rushes through my veins, the fever is gone. I am still feeling its aftereffects, though, as I stretch the lactic acid from my muscles and make the long trek upstairs to shower, shave and go back to sleep. 

Inside my bedroom, I turn left on instinct and move towards the bathroom, but irritating vibrations cause me to stop and yank my phone from my pocket. The little screen on my phone shows the little envelope indicating text messages, and then the voicemail icon, and finally, the list of missed calls. Five missed calls.

The first was from my Aunt Petunia; I could wait to call her back. She knew I slept odd hours when I was working. I didn’t have the heart to tell her and Vernon that I wasn’t working now and that I was currently wasting the last of my trust on a 1.8 million dollar flat in the middle of Scottsland. That was the only reason rent was paid – my parents. God bless them, even if they are dead. 

Ron, Hermione and Luna have all called, but my blood boils when I see the last call. She knew it was coming soon or else she wouldn’t have wasted the effort to call. Now that I have a clear head, hers was going to roll. I couldn’t believe that slag actually gave me an STD! How could she? She was pregnant, a little over a month, when she left, turning down my proposal, and now, now, she has the nerve to call? She hasn’t returned my calls in weeks, asking about the baby, asking about how she was. Old habits die hard, I can’t help wanting to know about her welfare too. 

I try to decide if I want to listen to the voicemail first or wait, when the screen flashes and I see Severus Snape appear, along with the photo I took of him with Remus. Where the hell some of their parents get their names I will never know, but for whatever reason, their names matched them to a 'T’. Remus Lupin, or Remus Snape, since they were married, is from a wealthy family, but Snape isn’t. Snape is an outcast, even though he is one of the most brilliant directors of stage I have ever met. 

It continues to flash, but I know ignoring it would be my end. Snape commands half of the city and he pays well. I need this. I flip the top open and hesitantly place the phone to my ear, wondering if he is going to yell or scream. I wait.

“Hello?”

“Potter! I have a job for you. Meet me tomorrow, noon. The Leaky Cauldron on 5th Avenue. You know it, right?”

Snape is always succinct and I admire that. Raised in the ‘dirty’ south, as those that live south of South Carolina call it, he commands a lazy drawl. I let it fool me once and I ended up working as a tech for a month. No one should ever make the mistake that because he talks funny, he isn’t intelligent. 

“I’m waiting’!” he snaps. I need any reason to ignore this call, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Yes, sir. I will be there.” I close my phone and lay it on my night table. I could listen to Ginny rant after I was clean. 

The shower here is impressive. Its walls are long and wide white marble, veined with black. The door is a crystal clear pane of glass and I love splashing water against it, but I don’t know why. Every time I come in here, though, I am haunted by the memories of making love against the wall, in the bath and on the counter – Ginny is still here, even if she is gone. I hate it. I hate feeling out of control over a woman. I wonder if it’s really because I was in love or if she was just my first love. I wonder how she managed not to get pregnant long ago, but she is, and I want my child. 

I turn on the taps and let the steam relax all of the stress away, hot rivulets pounding against my skin, leaving it red and tender. I need the abuse for the moment. I reach for my vanilla-scented body wash and scrub the grime away. I have to be careful with my cock; I am raw and sore as if I had fucked the entire state. How could Ginny do this to me?

I finish washing quickly and dry off, dressing in a pair of loose pants and nothing more. Who needs shirts for sleeping? The clock on my bedside table reads ten forty-five. I don’t care if it’s late, I will listen to her message and call her. She needs to know what she has done.

“Harry, we need to talk. Call me soon.” Ginny’s voice is always comforting, but now it sounds as though she needs comfort.

I have to call her now. There is no choice. I still haven’t changed the picture of us on the main screen; I still miss her and for some reason, that one small bundle of pixels keeps her close by. I catch the time and date on the bottom of the screen. Sunday, September 18, 2005. 

“Shit.”

That is all I can say; honestly, though, I didn’t care. At least I didn’t until my stomach protests from the lack of attention that I’ve been paying it. I remember I still have pills to take and dial Ginny’s cell number without even looking at the keypad. I knew it well enough by now. 

Each ring made me more anxious, as if I needed to know something and right now. I rarely feel this out of sorts, but something in Ginny’s voice made me want to demand answers. Exactly four rings later and the former ginger-haired goddess' soft voice answers the other end of the line.

“Mr. Potter,” she says. Her voice is still shaky. I still don’t know why we greet one another so formally on the phone. We always have.

“Miss Weasley.”

“How are you doing?” The lilt to her voice makes me want to scream. How can she be so damned calm?

“You don’t want to know. You?” I ask encouragingly. I want to know what is so damn important.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Harry. I think we are passed this game,” she states. I hate it when she gets like this. I can almost picture her face screwed up and one hand on her hip, just like her mother.

“You are the one that asked me to call you, so I suggest you start talking or I’m hanging up. I have enough shit in my life right now,” I say. She deserves my venom.

“I’m sorry. Harry…” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it and then the sniffle. Tears. She is crying.

“What’s the matter, Gin?” Real concern floods me. Ginny rarely cries.

“I lost the baby.”

Sucker punch number two for the day. 

“What?” I have to ask again. I need to be sure I heard her properly before I begin ranting about herpes!

“I lost the baby,” she says, more angrily this time. 

“When? How?” I feel stinging at my eyes, but I am not going to cry. I don’t know if this deserves my tears, or if she deserves my tears, but I cannot cry.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, Harry. I know how much you wanted a family.”

“Right now, apologies honestly mean nothing to me. I’ve just been to the doctor, Gin; do you know what he told me?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“So you knew?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you left when I asked you to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I deserve some answers. Who did you sleep with?” I demand.

“Harry, leave it alone. I can offer no answers. I need to go. I’m in Germany and my flight leaves in two hours.”

“Ginny, I deserve some answers. I don’t care when your flight leaves, but when it arrives in Scottsland, I expect you to do me the courtesy of speaking with me about this matter.”

“Goodbye, Harry,” she says, and hangs up the phone.

I throw the phone across the room and it skids on the bed and drops to the floor. I don’t care. She just ignored me and refused to give me answers! Now my child is dead and I am still alone. I fucking hate this. Just as I was truly coming around and not thinking of her ginger hair everyday, she takes away all love I have left for her. I wonder if she did something to hurt the baby just so I would leave her.


	3. Meetings

Chapter 3: Meetings

 

I finally fall asleep after one in the morning. There are so many thoughts swirling in my head that I don’t know how I actually end up asleep, but my body finally gives in from the stress. I don’t dream, so I suppose that was more than I could hope for, really. At ten o’clock, I finally get out of bed and clean up a little. After three bottles worth of medications, I take another shower for good measure; I hate meeting Severus looking like a train wreck. He is refined in a way I probably will never understand. Well-educated, well-trained, well-read, everything. His appearance is deceiving at times, but his tone and obvious command of any stage makes him what he is: a master. 

I give in and decide I will need to drive to meet with Severus; his choice in establishments indicates he wants me close enough to the theatre that if I choose to accept, he could give me all the details right then. The rest of the cast will audition, it always works that way, and I seem to be the only one immune to auditions in Snape’s theatre. I don’t mind, I just hope I am that damn good. Casually dressed, I wait for eleven-thirty. Leaving before the appointed time puts me in a small pub, with barely any money and the temptation to have a drink. I don’t need to drink today. I think, by all rights, I have earned it, though – my child is dead, the woman I was in love with gave me an STD, and I am contemplating the support group meeting that starts at three o’clock today.

The Burrow Recreation Centre: HSV/HPV Support Group. 

The literature about the support group says confidentiality is a must. Who am I going to tell I have been there, much less who the other attendees are? The tabloids already have me pegged as a ladies’ man and worse, an alcoholic/drug-addict. I am neither. I drink very rarely, in fact; I guess I drank enough at Catawba that I refuse to indulge now. It is truly better this way, I guess. 

I know I have gas, but I loathe using it. Four dollars and twenty cents per gallon makes my head hurt. I feel like such a miser right now. Yes, I just paid the lease through the end of the year, but I can’t help knowing my trust is dwindling. That trust money is for advancement only. I am not advancing right now. I wonder what my parents would think if they knew I was wasting away in such a place. Would they be angry or would they say I had to learn on my own? Either way I don’t care, I just know I am not happy. I need to find my place.

I have a place to live, even if I despise it for its opulence, so I should be happy. Ron won’t be happy to hear from me after this meeting, but I need to call him. He is my only source of information regarding Ginny these days, so I will just have to suck it up. At least Hermione still talks to me, I guess there are some small miracles.

I gather my cell phone from the floor and ignore its constant vibrating. There is no need to bother with it; I have bigger fish to fry right now. 

In the underground garage, I locate my oldest friend, Black Magic, and place a careful hand on the hood. She’s been here forever and I neglect her. I care more for my car than Ginny now. I suppose that is a good thing. She betrayed me and I have no room for betrayal. 

I insert the key in the ignition and the car hums to life, sputtering and near death, but she still starts. I thank the million little gods for that small relief. The Leaky Cauldron is only a few blocks away, she will make it – she has to. Silence greets me as the engine hums and my finicky CD player spits the disc inside out onto the gear stick, and instead of trying it again, I just throw it onto the backseat. I am tired of this old car. A small, 1998 black Chevy Cavalier with grey cloth interior and leather panels – a poor piece of machinery that killed two motors and a transmission. Dudley didn’t deserve the new Mirage, but I don’t care. The Dursleys are entitled to give their selfish son anything he wants, really. I don’t care. Except he’s doing well for himself as a boxer and last I heard, rubbing elbows with city officials and various members of elite society. 

Instead of caring about my pig cousin, I head towards the entrance of the garage.

Parkwood Court is a small street in relation to the city. The one good thing about it is that it connects to all of the main highways. Lucky for me, I can get anywhere I want within thirty minutes, if traffic obeys my whims. I’d be a bloody idiot if I thought fate was looking out for me, especially after the last two days. I make a right and then a quick left, moving down East Hogwarts Drive. Hogwarts Drive is the main thoroughfare for the city. North, south, east and west coalesce at the city centre, which is Hogwarts Square. Medieval themes decorate the square: griffins, lions, snakes, eagles and badgers, with an ancient chalice in the middle lined with blue panes of glass. A large red and gold sword stands high from the middle of the cup with a fountain of water flowing from its tip over a large, torn witch’s hat. All around the square, large patches of grass lie in perfect rows.

Traffic is thankfully light enough and I arrive on time, though just barely. At least Snape knows punctuality is not one of my strongest points. I am always on stage by the time the curtains open. I don’t like all the makeup anyway, it makes my face itch. I feel lucky Severus kept me this long; I can be a right pain in the arse. 

Street side parking is nowhere in sight, but there is a small parking deck less than a block away and I pull in, finding a space immediately. Small miracles can happen. At least a new job means I don’t have spare time to think about my problems. I wonder if this new production will be anything like the last. “Ubu Roi” was interesting to say the least; characters marched across stage wearing bundt cake pans and funnels as helmets. I wonder what we will wear this time.

I head over to the Cauldron, stopping to look in a store window on the way. All around me is Ginny. Many of the toys in the display window are ones manufactured and created by her two older twin brothers, Fred and George. Her family owns a large toy company and she is the Senior Marketing Director for Weasley Works. She travels most of the time trying to sell the products to new customers, which usually means out of the country. Japan, Norway, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, Germany, France… she visits these countries on a regular basis.

I don’t dwell long when I look at my watch and see time is slowly ticking by. Upsetting Severus when he has an offer is never a good idea, so I run, like the good little boy I am, to make it on time. Inside, the Leaky Cauldron looks no different from the last time I was here over a year ago. It is full of smoke from the cancer sticks of patrons and employees, and smells like stale beer. I quickly scan the darkened room for Severus’ long black hair and don’t see him at the usual table. Typically, when we meet here before a job, he occupies the large booth in the back so he can spread all the information out. I wonder where he is. Tom, the owner of this wonderful establishment, flashes his toothless grin and points at me. I shake my head and shrug my shoulders; I don’t understand. 

“He means turn around, boy,” Severus drawls with a sneer. I hate that expression. He makes it look malicious, but Remus’ dark brown hair pops up behind him, and he puts his hand on Severus’ arm.

“Severus, play nice. You don’t want to scare away your best actor.” 

I smile. Remus protects me from his dour husband and I don’t mind. The two men make an interesting pair, to say the least. Severus always pulls his long, black, shiny hair back into a tight tail at the nape of his neck. His skin is ‘creature-of-the-night’pale, but it makes for a great vampire at our annual costume ball and fundraiser. He’s tall too; I guess around 6’3”, which to my 5’10” is huge. Underneath his black garb, he’s muscled, though not like a body builder – more like something Da Vinci could have appreciated. Soft masculinity - that is what I like to call it. He isn’t feminine, but he doesn’t look like he injects steroids either. His long nose is hooked on the end slightly, surrounded by high, sharp cheeks. Evidence of pockmarks mars his skin; I assume he dealt with acne when he was younger, but I never ask. 

Snape has his eyebrows sculpted like many of the others in the performing arts, even though he isn’t a performer. Overall, he is an attractive man. His overbearing personality makes him hard to deal with sometimes, but I feel like working with him makes me stronger. I have learnt a lot from him. 

His husband, Remus, is a whole other story, though. Remus is quiet and compassionate, always trying to train emotions into Severus’ succinct, anger-filled personality. Remus wears his hair short and doesn’t bother with all of the frills his husband indulges in. No nonsense and honest, he makes a great partner to Severus. The brown hair that covers his head is always well groomed and tidy, unlike my own black mess. He is the more feminine-featured of the pair, obviously gay. His voice is soft and caresses the eardrum like a calming parent. Sometimes he can talk for hours about nothing and anything, but keep his audience enraptured. I wonder if that is what I do when I am on stage.

Remus and I are about the same height and he wears a thin moustache. He always dresses impeccably and I admire that. I guess that is the beauty of coming from money, though. His only true flaw is a permanent limp in his left leg; he says it is from a car accident years ago. I tried to ask him more about it one time, but he shrugged and changed the subject. My parents died in a car accident, I wonder if he knows that. 

I turn to face the contrasting pair and Remus pats my arm in a gesture of understanding, but I wonder if he really does. Severus can’t treat him the way he treats us on stage. 

“I see you made it on time. Barely,” Severus snips. 

“Yeah, so what’s up?” I ask, hoping that this won’t take long.

“We are starting a new production and only have a little less than two months. You have work to do and we cannot stand here idly and chat. I am going to show you where your research must be conducted,” Severus says, his black eyes dancing.

“Lead the way.”

“Good to see you, Harry,” Remus says, patting my arm again.

“You too, Remie. Do you know where we are going?”

“Just let him tell you.”

I nod. There is no use in arguing. 

“Get a move on, Potter. We don’t have all day. Unlike you, the rest of us have things to do.”

I don’t even stifle the scowl on my face. If he is going to be a prick today, I can be too. I am not in the mood for his shit. 

“Yes, sir!” I snap, saluting him.

We pile into their expensive car, and once we are en route, he starts to explain my assignment. 

“The play we are doing is a little bit different than anything we have ever worked on before, but I need to know if I have your full cooperation before we get started.”

“Details?” I ask.

“I know you are as straight as they come, Potter, but this a homosexual-themed play. A few of the well-off queens of the city requested you. So, tell me, can you step outside of your comfortable heterosexual box to do a full run of this thing?”

At first, I am surprised. Usually, an all-gay ensemble is cast for these types of productions. It gives strength to the gay community by giving them prominent positions of power. Why was I requested for this? 

“What will I have to do?” I ask. I need to know what I am getting into before I say yes.

“You will be very close to other male actors. Skin to skin, kissing, touching. Can you handle that?” Severus asks, his face twitching with irritation. Remus merely steers the car calmly.

I think about it. Can I do that? I mean, I have wrestled with men before, but I am going to play a gay man, so intimacy would be necessary. I need to convince a completely new crowd of people, a whole community of people. Can I do that? Do I have it in me to step completely out of my comfort zone in order to make this work? I don’t have Ginny anymore, so I don’t have to worry about whether she will be jealous of my on-stage lover. Could it hurt me to explore new avenues of art? I mean, I can always make sure they know I’m not gay. Would it matter? I think I need this, though, I need to renew myself and this might be the only way to do it. I think I can do it…

“Yes, sir,” I say, simply. No sense in elaborating more about the detailed thoughts I am having. He doesn’t need to know my fears. 

“Good. I thought you might say that. Here’s the deal. Every night you will be required to check in with Dragon, the owner of The Dragon’s Tail nightclub. You are to observe, converse and learn intimacy with men in this setting with Dragon. He’s a very professional young man and will not push your boundaries physically.”

I snicker. This man sounds like someone moulded after Snape’s own black heart. 

“Sir?”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Will we have to kiss?” I ask. I don’t know if I want the answer to that. Moreover, why am I working with this Dragon fellow?

“It would be a good idea to get used to it. Remind yourself that you are being paid almost one million dollars for this project and I am sure that you will feel better about it,” Snape says.

“What? Why would I get so much?” 

“Don’t complain, love,” Remus chuckles in response.

“I’m not complaining, it just seems like a lot of money for this production. That’s all.”

“You are heading into completely new territory now, son. What gay men want, gay men get and that is the best. Your name was the first one they asked for. This was their offer, and I suggest you take it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No problem. Now, look ahead. You are using this club for research,” Snape says and points towards a large building towards the edge of town. “I want you to watch everything. Movement, touches, everything. Study your role because the rest of the characters will be auditioning with you starting next week. And you better be ready to show me why you are getting the best pay in this show.”

I can’t believe it. I wonder how many men will audition for this part. Severus hands me a few booklets, including notes on past productions and my role. The name ‘Nat’ is circled with red ink. This is who I will be for the next few months. ‘Nat’ a young boy, really, who is with a jocker, and I am his punk. I have to wonder if this is the most compelling and hardest role, is that why I was chosen for the part? 

“Dragon is expecting you at nine o’clock when the club doors open. He wants to show you around before it gets busy. Can you remember how to get here?” Severus asks.

“Yes, I can find it. Thank you, sir,” I say. If I am honest, I don’t know if I like the mess I am getting myself into, but I have to admit doing something new intrigues me. Could this play be the catalyst that sends me rocketing forward in life? Is this the chance to change my outlook on things, the chance to learn about truly living?

I can only hope that this is a chance for something new. I don’t expect anything, but maybe that is for the best. Remus drops me off at my car and I wave before getting in, but I hear Snape’s southern accent calling my name.

“You have all access to the club. Any drinks you purchase are covered, just put them on the “Jocker” tab. They will know what it means. Also, don’t let Dragon upset you, he can be callous.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Anytime. I will see you next Monday at eight o’clock. Auditions begin then and I expect you to observe punctuality for a change. There is a lot of funding coming in for this production, if you can’t show up on time, don’t show up at all.”

“Right. Thanks again, sir,” I reply, waving to Remus as they drove away.

I make my way home and wait until it was time to head over to The Burrow. The flyer said to come straight in and to put on a nametag, but I am not sure if I wanted to tell everyone who I am yet. I don’t know these people and I have no idea how many will be there and recognize me. If I go with honesty, they may welcome me. I hope they don’t call me brave, I can’t stand to hear that when bad things happen. You shouldn’t have to be brave, you have every right to be upset about the news your sexual life is about to change forever. Risking the rejection that is common with misunderstandings and even then, you never know who will spill your dirty little secret. 

Do I really want to expose myself this way? 

I fight my own conscience for a while and remind myself that I don’t have to share my story yet. Sometimes just knowing others are dealing with the same thing makes hard times easier to deal with. If I am honest with myself, I need to be around others who understand. I mean, how can I understand this if I don’t talk about it? I need this. I don’t care if it seems weak.

When I arrive at the old recreational facility, I walk through the black-rimmed glass doors and go straight in. There is a young woman, with short, dark-brown hair and brilliant blue eyes who smiles, welcoming me. A nose-ring gleams in the fluorescent lighting and I smile in return. I always thought body piercings were somewhat sexy. I walk straight ahead, following the voices from the back of the building. I stop at the closed door, though. There is laughter from within and I wonder if I can belong here. My chest is beginning to feel tight; I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. I don’t know if I should do this anymore. 

Ahem.

I hate that sound. I turn around and see a young man with long, silvery-blond hair. He is tall, taller than I am, and built well. The only way I can describe him is beautiful. His features are soft, but his face is screwed up in a sneer that reminds me of Snape. 

“Are you going in?” he asks, shifting his weight.

“Er, yeah, I think so,” I say lamely.

“Well, don’t think about it too long, looks like it hurts,” he says and smiles. 

“Sorry,” I mumble. He just insulted me and this is the first time I have ever seen this man. 

“We don’t bite… much, and only if you ask,” he says, extending his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Harry. Harry Potter.” 

“Nice to meet you. First time?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Oh no, I started this group.”

I think my jaw dropped, but I don’t know. He winks and pushes the door open around me, and I feel his warm, sculpted body press against mine. A shiver runs down my spine as I try to get away, but he pushes me through and I enter into my first ever support group meeting.


	4. The First Night

Chapter 4: The First Night

 

I don’t know what this bloke is playing at. Draco Malfoy; sounds like his mum had too much of an imagination. Why the hell would you name your child that? It sounds Latin. Old. I wonder if anyone told them Latin is a dead language. If not, they should. When I walk into the small room, there are at least eight other people. How cosy. 

In the centre of the room, there is a circle of chairs, and on the back wall, a table stands, littered with pamphlets and snacks. Like an arse, I am still standing by the door that Mr Draco Malfoy shoved me through and the others are quiet. They are watching me like a hawk and I wonder if I should even be here, when a very strange-looking woman makes her way to me. 

Aside from dirty-blonde hair, she almost seems like a man. She has a sharply angled face, but obviously, she has breasts. They are huge, hiding underneath her crisp black blouse. I don’t know what to do. I want to run, but Draco Malfoy has already seen fit to include me in this little group without my permission. I suppose it might not be too bad, but as a matter of principal, I don’t like my choices taken away.

“Hi, I’m Millicent,” she says, extending her hand. Her voice is sultry and low. I wonder if she is a smoker the way her voice cracks. I take her hand, it can’t hurt. It’s a simple gesture of greeting.

“Harry, Harry Potter.” I curse my name because three people in the circle look up and turn doe-eyed. I try to smile, but I can’t, I’m too nervous. Instead, my lips both try to frown and smile at the same time. I am sure I must look like an absolute git. I can feel the conflicting movements in my face like the flittering wings of a bird. Up and down my muscles twitch, until I can get the conflict under control.

“Come on, Harry. Since this is your first time, no pressure to talk about what happened. All right?” Millicent asks. I wonder if I can trust these people. I follow her, I don’t know why.

Draco stands in the back, rifling through something on the table, but then he heads towards the rest of the group and I finally take a seat. Before he finds a seat, I notice he has two cups in his hand and he stops, holding one out to me.

“Sometimes it’s nice to have an escape route,” he says softly. I don’t really understand what he means, but I take it, feeling slightly uneasy. What if he drugged it? Then of all things, he sits down beside me. One of the other blokes across the room looks fit to be tied; his invisible hackles are so high, as though I have just treaded on his property. 

The bloke I am now trying to hide my face from has sandy brown hair and he’s quite fit. He has a soft face, but I can tell by the ‘burn in hell, newbie’ look that he wants me out of here. I wonder why. I didn’t make Malfoy sit beside me.

One of the young women stands. Her hair is black as coal and shiny like glass. She is stone-faced and looks like a pug. I don’t know why I’m bothered about what she is wearing, but the paisley dress does nothing for her soft complexion. I guess she is the “leader” of this group, but didn’t Malfoy say that he started this group? I don’t dare ask him; I guess he has his reasons for not saying. Not asking doesn’t mean the burning desire to ask isn’t there, though. This is driving me nuts. I have been here less than ten minutes and already I want to get the hell out.

“OK, welcome, everyone. My name is Pansy Parkinson; I am the moderator of this group. Just so you know you are in the right place, this is The Burrow Recreation Centre HSV/HPV support group. HSV is the Herpes Simplex Virus and HPV is the Human Papillomavirus. As you all know, these two diseases go hand-in-hand and I would hate for our new fella to be in the wrong place.” She turns to look at me and I simply nod. I’m not sure if I have a voice at the moment, so I just look at the pug-faced woman, unable say anything. 

I forget I am holding a cup with some kind of over-sweetened pop and Malfoy clears his throat. I fucking hate that. I look at him as he raises his cup slightly, and I just stare at him, wondering what in the hell he wants. I shrug, and then it dawns on me. Cheeky bastard. He knew.

I turn away, feeling more irritated than I probably should, but I drink the fizzy liquid to wet my currently parched throat. I didn’t drink much, I felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, especially Malfoy’s. I don’t know why I felt so scrutinized, I shouldn’t. Hell I shouldn’t be that uncomfortable, I am used to people staring at me. I’m an actor!

“Right, who would like to get started?” she asks, scanning the other faces in the group. The sandy-haired bloke is still eyeing me with daggers, but what was I supposed to do about that? I hope he doesn’t think I am taking over his territory or something, that isn’t my plan. I am here for the same reason as everyone else. 

I hear the rustling of clothes beside me and turn to see Malfoy standing and nodding his head at Pansy. It was like a strange club with secret hand gestures. I didn’t understand what was going on at all. Malfoy walked towards the table for the second time and starts talking.

“I have been a member of this exclusive little club for ten years,” he says, stopping to pour another cup full of the sticky pop. Club, what club? “Everyone knows me, even our new raven-haired beauty, so I will spare introductions.” He sighs. I wonder if this was boring for him. Ten years, maybe he’s been telling this story for ten years.

“My first lover was a straight man. Adrian Pucey -- a fine, tall Adonis with black hair and olive skin. He was as straight as they come, but he needed to see for himself. He was dating this girl, but I can’t remember her name now. For about two years, they were together, but she was quite the open-legged young lady.” He scoffs and comes back to the circle; his shoulders are visibly tense, and it isn’t hard to tell he’s never gotten used to telling this story.

“Anyway, we had sex, because he knew I was gay. He just wanted to see what it was like. He didn’t know his little wench had been sleeping around without protection, so she brought him the gift that keeps on giving.” His voice cracks with anger as he says the words. I wonder exactly what he means by ‘the gift that keeps on giving.’ 

“He knew he was infected, I found that out later, but his excuse was he didn’t know it would hurt me.” Malfoy takes a sip of his drink; me, I am fidgeting madly. I don’t know how he was able to tell this story to so many people without breaking down. I am uncomfortable hearing it. It feels like I am invading someone’s private thoughts and I don’t like it.

“So at fifteen, I experimented with a straight man and came out of it with herpes. Wonderful news to my parents, I assure you. Not even a private doctor could keep from informing them; it was the law, he said. I mean, now that I think about it, it wasn’t worth it, none of it was, but I can’t change that now. It’s been three years since I was in a relationship and I’m starting to get quite lonely. I am not actively pursuing anyone, though; I would rather not deal with the rejection. I am not used to rejection,” he shrugs, looking at everyone. They are obviously familiar with this story. 

This man is brave, even if he is only telling this story for my benefit. I have to respect that. If his goal is to make me uncomfortable, he does it well, because I want to claw my way out of the exit at this point. 

“So, Draco, tell us what happened. How did your last lover take it?” Pansy asked, looking at both of us. I don’t know why she looks at me, but I take a sip of the drink, silently praising Malfoy for his foresight. Yes, he was right; sometimes it is nice to have an ‘escape route’ as he called it. Why is he doing this? I wonder why he is being nice to me, he’s never met me before – I could be some spy. It sounds stupid, but the press does things like that all the time. But then again, what person in their right mind would come in here for kicks? This is a depressing meeting, even if we all have something in common. I hate it, I want out. Then I hear Malfoy again, this time he seems a bit steadier.

“I had my first real relationship with an older man and he took good care of me. The only reason we parted ways is he got sick. Prostate cancer. Go figure, an incredible pleasure centre for the gay man and it betrays him,” he says, chuckling. Draco is nervous, that much is clear. “Anyway, he didn’t have herpes, but he didn’t care that I did either. We used protection and oral sex was very limited, but we made it. Somehow, we still had incredible sex and he taught me a lot about life.”

“Do you regret how things happened?” Pansy asks. Her face ripples with empathy, and I can’t help but take another drink.

“Regret? I regret it everyday, but I can’t change it. I just accept it and hope to find the love of my life, someone accepting of this curse and me.” I watch as he brings the cup to his lips and downs its contents, smashing the fragile plastic in his powerful hands.

“But you can honestly say that there is happiness to be found, even if you have genital herpes?” Pansy asks the blond. I try to size Pansy up, but the woman is an enigma. I can’t tell if she really cares or if she is only asking him these questions for my benefit.

“Yeah, happiness is relative, though. One can, in theory, lead a healthy sex life and have an open, honest relationship with a person even after being blessed with this disease.” I can hear the venom pouring from his lips. It almost makes me sick to think this handsome man supposes so little of himself. Maybe it is all an act. Does cynicism really help? I mean, I can probably hate Ginny for the rest of my life, but I don’t see how it can help me. I want to understand his venom, but I haven’t been with anyone but her, and this is so very new to me.

“Alright, Millie, do you want to share?” Pansy asks. Her pug-face shakes when she turns her head and I have to turn away, but I wish I hadn’t. Malfoy and I lock eyes, and I feel trapped. Arctic blue eyes tear into my soul and I want nothing more than to get away. I need to get away, his gaze is so intense I feel like a prisoner, even more so than when he sat beside me. Then I hear it.

Ahem.

I grit my teeth and look up. The sandy-haired man is still glaring daggers. I shrug; I don’t want Malfoy. Was the other man staking a claim to the striking blond-haired man? I don’t really know how these things work. I mean, Ginny used to get jealous when I would have a ‘love scene’ on stage, but then I would take her home and shag her senseless. She knew I belonged to her, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Now I wonder if all the jealousy was because she was cheating on me the entire time. How can she not speak to me? I need answers. In addition, if this bloke’s expression is anything close to Ginny’s, I know I don’t like it. The dirty blonde with wavy hair stands, she introduced herself to me already, that I remember.

“I am Millicent, or Millie. I am a post-op transsexual. I used to be Michael Bulstrode, but for the past three years, I have been Millie. I always knew I wasn’t meant to be a man, but that isn’t the point of this story, is it?” I watched this woman closely for a few minutes. I’m honestly not sure what to make of her, but now that she said it, it was obvious she used to be a male. Though what exactly post-op meant, I wasn’t sure. I wonder if her breasts are real. It doesn’t matter honestly, but I am now curious about this new person. 

“I was sleeping around a lot when I was younger, but it wasn’t until I settled down with one Luna Lovegood, hair white as the moon and eyes as blue as the morning sky, that I ended up with herpes. I guess I was lucky really, but she soon left me when I asked her to peg for me; I don’t know what the big deal was. Then again, her father was a minister. She claimed not to know about it, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Our relationship didn’t last once I started taking hormones. It was with her I truly knew what I wanted and it wasn’t to have a cock anymore. So at least something good came from all of that mess,” she says.

Millicent sits down and runs her fingers along the hem of her skirt nervously. I just watch; I have nothing to say really. I take another sip of my drink and realize only ice clanks against the clear plastic and I hear a snort from beside me. I am not going to give him the satisfaction of turning and looking. I refuse to!

As I am trying to hide the fact that I have embarrassed myself, I check my watch. I nearly hop out of my seat with excitement as it reads four o’clock. At least now I can leave, as long as they don’t try to detain me. I don’t know if I honestly want to be detained by this group any longer than I have to be. Maybe I am just feeling insecure, but I wonder now if it was a good idea to show up here at all. All I learned was two other people’s stories, and I don’t know how that is supposed to help me. I am ripped from my musings when Pansy stands up and starts to talk again.

“We are out of time this week, but I want to encourage everyone to return to the next meeting. We are going to discuss coping and the emotional pitfalls of herpes in a sex-driven society.”

Emotional pitfalls? What in the hell is she going on about? I ignore it as she bids everyone a good afternoon. Not paying attention, I walk straight into Mr Malfoy himself. He turns with a wide grin and chuckles.

“Watch where you are going, Potter. If I didn’t know any better, I’d thinking you were coming on to me.” 

What? Is he nuts?

“In your dreams, Malfoy,” I reply. He just smiles. I feel a shiver travel down my spine and turn away.

“See you again, Potter?” he asks. I don’t know if I want to answer him or not. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I say. No sense in hiding it, I may not have liked the group this time, but I at least owed them another chance.

“Good.” That is the last thing he said before he turns around and starts conversing with the sandy-haired man that spent the entire meeting glaring at me. 

I start to leave and he stops me again, this time grabbing my arm as I walk by.

“Hold on a second, Potter. I want you to meet someone. Potter, this is Oliver Wood,” Malfoy says, his eyes appraising me. 

I stick my hand out to shake Wood’s, but he turns his nose up and snorts. How becoming.

“Well, nice to meet you too. I have to be somewhere; see you next time.” Malfoy finally takes his hand off my arm, but I feel like it was his way of giving me permission rather than my own necessity to get away.

I hear Wood raise his voice, but I ignore it and head out the painted wooden doors. I don’t have anything to do but get myself ready for the excursion to The Dragon’s Tail, and I think I am going to need some time to get used to this idea. I don’t think I truly understood what I was getting into when I signed on for this. 

*****

At the appointed hour, I head to the outskirts of town to find The Dragon’s Tail. I arrive early enough to find a mostly empty car park. I’m lazy, so if I don’t have to walk all the way from the edge of town, I am even happier. When I drive up, I am not really paying attention, but now that I am here, I can honestly say that I am impressed. The building is like a miniature castle. This Dragon bloke must have spent a small fortune building this place, because it could easily be mistaken as a Romanesque estate. Parapets line the top of the second story and hewn, square stones rise from the foundation. Large columns rise high on each side of the club entrance with velvet ropes guiding the way. 

There are only a few windows scattered across the eastern side of the building, but they seem to be restrooms, because they are the only rooms with steady light flowing from within. If I had to wager a guess, the tower housed Dragon’s personal office, but I could be wrong. I knew nothing about this place, but I am about to get a crash course. I suddenly feel very alone in a foreign world and contemplate backing out. 

A million dollars is a lot of money to step outside of my comfort zone. It isn’t as if I haven’t seen naked men before. Communal showers in college made sure that I was very familiar with a man’s body, even if I didn’t want to be. 

I pluck my courage from somewhere and head to the doors. There are two large men outside dressed in short, leather shorts and leather bandoleers criss-crossing their chests. They are very well-built; I am sure they are security, to make sure that no one caused any trouble. As I draw closer to the entrance, I notice a small booth with a red awning and head straight for it. 

The woman seated did not look very happy, but I muster my best smile and greet her.

“Name?” She has an accent, but I can’t place it. Though after giving her a good once over, I saw the slanted, almond eyes and olive skin of some sort of Asian mix. Her hair is purple, which I find endearing. Inside her pretty mouth, I saw a tongue ring dancing across her teeth. 

“Harry Potter,” I say. 

“Go on in, Dragon will be with you later,” she says. I wait; I don’t know what Dragon looks like, how am I supposed to know how to find him?

“H-How do I know it’s him?” I ask, feeling shy suddenly.

“He’ll find you, love. Trust me, you are the only straight man here.”

I want to feel insulted, but then again, that is why I am here. She smiles at my expense, but I let it slide. The two goons open the doors and I step inside. I must say, the outside does not do this place justice. It looks like I just stepped onto the set of a psychedelic music video. Lights flash everywhere and a large wall of water falls to the floor, pooling in a large basin that stretches about twelve feet. At the bottom, the foundation of the pool looks like glittering dragon scales. The effect is incredible. 

Further to left, past the pool, there is a large trophy case and photos of various drag queens. A banner above the trophy case, in bright green lettering on silver reads, Come get your Drag-on. There are large banana plants scattered in the entrance and it was then that I realized the plants arrangement is to look like wings. To my left is a door with another guard. It is black with silver lettering reading Dungeon Access. Below the letting is a small notice in white that says, No one under twenty-one years of age permitted.

To my right, a hallway leads to the loudest, bass-filled house music I have ever heard. I don’t recognize the song, but I follow it and find an incredible sight. In the back of the room is a large stage, full of pillows, cushions, poufs and couches, each with a different colour of the rainbow. To my right is a large bar, with lots of stools and a huge array of alcohol-lined, glass shelves. 

The dance floor is in the middle of the room, and giant speakers lie on the ground, pumping the vibrating tunes all around. To the left, there is an extravagant spiral staircase with green ribbons wrapped around the banister. 

I walk up to the bar first, and order a cocktail, letting them know I am on the ‘Jocker’ tab. Once I have my simple gin and cranberry, I head up the spiral staircase. It seemed never ending, but once at the top, I am impressed. A lounge/loft overlooks the stage up here. There are tables and plush couches arranged and even another bar on the left side of the room. The parapet design is low enough to see the dance floor below, but also to prevent falls. There are more red velvet ropes between the gaps of the parapet, and I love it. The décor in this place is impressive. A large mirrored ball in the centre of the dance floor glitters all around and smoke machines issue sweet wisps at random intervals. 

So far, I am impressed. If I didn’t know any better, this Dragon fellow just liked to have a good time. Who cares if he is gay? 

I stand watching as couples dance, expressing their desire for one another in a rhythmic way. Males dance with males, women with women, and even some male/female pairs, but they were few and far between. The most interesting group by far is the trio at the corner of the stage, stroking one another’s hair softly and whispering in one another’s ears. I watch how the various men walk, some with soft sways to their hips, while others are less obvious. All of the ‘gay-dar’ stereotypes spring to mind, but in here, one could never tell. It wasn’t long before I realized I was no longer alone in this large balcony and decide to take a seat, just observing. 

Time passes quickly as I enjoy the music and the laughter of those around me. Around eleven, I am starting to wonder if this Dragon bloke will ever show, when I feel a pair of strong hands on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear.

“Nice to see you again, Mr Potter.”

Aside from the cologne that assaulted my senses, probably something like Tommy Hilfiger, I recognize the voice. It can’t be. I turn and see those artic blue eyes, and silvery blond hair falling around sharp features. 

“You’re Dragon?” I ask, incredulously. 

“The one and only, but you are only to call me Dragon here, do you understand?” he says with force. His eyes show that he is serious and doesn’t want to deal with any cheek.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Now, why don’t I give you the grand tour?” Dragon asks with a smile. I shudder, though whether it was from the smile, or the irony, I’m not sure.

I stand and follow him down the stairs, back towards the entrance. He moves behind a red curtain that I didn’t see when I came in and I follow. There is a door with a keypad; he quickly enters a code, and it buzzes, opening to a staircase. We stop on the first landing and I follow him to another door. He knocks three times and it opens. A young, sexy woman with too much eyeliner and not enough clothes greets us. She has on a pair of headphones and runs back to the turntables to change the music. When I look to my left, I see a large pane of smoky glass that overlooks the entire establishment.

“Wow.”

I couldn’t help it. I was impressed. Dragon, no, Malfoy has taste. 

“I take it you like it?” he inquires, with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, this is nice.”

“Good. This is Lavender. She’s my DJ, but we like to call her DJ Triple Play.” I look at him for a moment questioning, but he doesn’t say anything. He raises a hand dismissing the question on the tip of my lips, and turns to face the woman.

“This is Harry Potter. He’s here to learn about how to be a gay man for a play. I want you to give him access to this room if he needs to observe and ask questions.”

She simply nods and he turns to leave. I can only follow. 

We start up the stairs again and stop on the next landing. He points to a set of double doors. “Those are the private rooms. We don’t need to go in there tonight. They are only full on the weekends.”

I nod and follow as he takes me up one more flight of stairs and we stop. The door says, Dragon and below it, Office. We walk in and instead of caring about the décor, I take the offered chair across from his desk.

“I know it’s late so I won’t keep you long. No one here knows my name, so I want to keep it that way. Got it? I understand you don’t know me very well, Mr Potter, but I need you to respect those boundaries.”

“OK, Dragon.”

“Good. Tomorrow I will introduce you to some of the old faces around here and we start teaching you a little bit. However, I am going to say most of what you will learn comes from observation. You actors are a strange lot, but I will give you free reign. The only limited access is the Dungeon because it is an exhibition hall of sorts. My customers know they can trust me, and I will not betray that, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I think we will get along swimmingly!”

“Right. OK, well it’s midnight and I do have a life outside of acting, so I think I am going to go home for now.”

“Have a good night, Mr Potter.”

I debate. I don’t want him always calling me Mr Potter. Nevertheless, I don’t want him to think us on a first name basis. I have to give in; I don’t want everyone looking at me as if I am some caged animal on display because he calls me by my surname.

“Call me Harry, OK?”

“Good, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Come straight to my office at nine o’clock. The code for the door downstairs is three-seven-two-four-six-six. If you forget, it spells Dragon.”

“Thanks.”

I shake his hand, which lingers longer than I like but ignore it. I leave feeling more confused than I did at the support group meeting. What is this man’s deal?


	5. There's Always Something

Chapter 5: There’s Always Something…  
Draco’s POV – Monday

 

This morning when Severus called to request that I help one of his actors, I think I wanted to puke. I despise it when he sends some fledgling straight man into the lion’s den, only to have them eaten alive by the queens at the club. In the past when he’s tried this little experiment, the actor usually left with high heel imprints on his ribs and a fear of drag queens. It’s usually their own damn fault for being disrespectful, and I am thankful that that knowledge allows me the malice to say it’s their own damn fault. I wonder at times what Severus is thinking of when he sends these bastards to me. 

The newest of his stagehands on the list is one Harry Potter. I know next to nothing about him, but according to Severus, this actor is talented, young and very good-looking. I am not going to mince words; Severus’ idea of good-looking is far different from mine, so I will reserve judgement for now, but I don’t expect this Harry Potter to be anything special.

If I didn’t owe Severus so much for protecting me, I would just tell him no. I can’t, though. He’s helped me too much, and I value his opinions too much to just to deny him help when he needs it. I don’t know how he does it, but he keeps my father from finding out where I am, and I am very thankful for that. Maybe adopting Dragon as my new name is the best thing I have ever done. I still fear the day that Lucius finds me; he will want me to assume his role, and I don’t want to be a politician. I have made my way quite comfortably, and plan to continue living in my penthouse in Hogwarts Square. 

Mornings are not my favourite. I can’t stand the smell of morning breath or the grimy mess that accumulates around my eyes. Now that I am firmly awake, though, I guess I’d better start the day. Nine in the morning is too early for a nightclub owner who refuses to entrust his empire to the mindless cretins that have shown interest in a managerial position in the past. I refuse to let my hard work go to waste, even if I hate my father; I learned from him that Malfoys take the best, no matter what. 

Most of the people I meet think I am some kind of demi-god, but I am nothing of the sort. I simply enjoy the finer things in life and if that is a fault, too bad. I keep a low profile in public, but that is all just an image. If I look like a million dollars, it doesn’t mean I have it, but I prefer not to dress like common people. If they see an Armani suit, they are more likely to ignore me than speak to me, and most assume the suit means money. I can’t even keep track of how many women have thrown themselves at me in the past five years. I always decline gracefully, stating that I have no need for companionship, and they run away pissed. After the rejection, their hips sway more and their shoulders are tight – I have seen that move enough with haughty queens not to think twice when they toss their hair and move on to the next idiot willing to part their legs.

I finally roll out of bed, ignoring the messy sheets I leave behind. There’s no point in straightening the mass of rumpled bedding when my well-paid house cleaner will make an appearance around noon. Usually I am not awake when she arrives; maybe this time I can actually enjoy a freshly made bed when I get home tonight. I am glad now that I chose to close early on Sunday nights; at least I can get a little more sleep before the routine starts all over. I wake up and relieve my bladder and bowels of all of the alcohol from my system, and then shower, shave and get ready for the day. It isn't much of a routine, but I am managing. At least I have a comfortable place to call home and a nice place to sleep.

My bedroom is simple really, but I like it. A king-size bed rests against the wall, allowing the sun to dance across it as the morning wanes. The headboard is hand-carved, black lacquer, just like the night table and rice paper screens across the room. There are dragons inlayed in everything. All of the furniture is Asian. I have a few Asian pieces decorating the walls, mostly the thirty-six views of Mt. Fuji, including The Great Wave, but behind the bed, I have a wonderful woodblock painting that I acquired some years ago. Even if Isoda Koryusai painted a man and a woman, this piece still holds a special place in my heart. The Lovers, Okaru and Yuranosuke shows the longing one person can have for another, at least that is what I see when I look at it. Its tanned colouring contrasts well with the rest of the room. Creamy white walls allow the colours to settle in the room, making it friendly. 

Black lacquered rice paper screens separate my wardrobe from the rest of the room, because I like to look out over the square when I change clothes. I’m high enough that only peeping Toms can see me anyway. I often thought that I should give eager eyes a show, but it is a little bit narcissistic to think that anyone actually took the time to watch my habits.

I don a pair of black slacks and a soft silver button-down shirt; the metallic fabric always brings out my eyes. A black leather belt with a silver buckle rests evenly on my hips and I slide a pair of black socks on with my black Prada oxfords. I don’t know why I wear this shit; it all looks the same in the end. Only practised eyes know the true brand. Nevertheless, I grew up with and expected it of myself; at least the shirt cost less than a thousand dollars. I have gotten better about just buying things I like, rather than buying them because of the price tag. When people mention my mother, Narcissa, they always say she looked regal, no matter what she wore, and that we had two things in common: our eyes and our ability to make even rags look fashionable.

When I look at my father, I just see an older version of me. His hair is shorter than mine is, but politicians can’t be seen with long hair. Long locks wouldn’t fit the mould and he is ever so good at doing that. However, incredibly handsome, gay, nightclub owners can wear their hair in any manner which pleases them. I smile. I can’t help it. The thought that my father is some stuffed shirt politician is a joke. I suppose he did well enough for himself, but I refuse to put myself in league with him. He’s cruel and cold; I spent most of my life raised by nannies, until I left for college. I never had many friends, and the ones I did have were constantly being monitored for foul play. If their family had any kind of black mark on their record, it was forbidden for me to associate with them. That was Lucius’ way. He claimed that I would be better off, but somehow I don’t think that was the case. 

I’ve never forgiven him for so many things, and I don’t plan to start now. He’s pure evil, no matter how you look at it. I ran and never looked back. Sometimes, I think if it wasn’t for my godfather, I would be dead. 

*****

When I arrive at The Burrow today, I don’t think there would be any newcomers. However, to my surprise, there is a handsome young man with messy black hair standing outside the door. He almost looks afraid to go in. He must be new to the community. Honestly, I wonder why I started this damned support group. Most of the people here almost seem happy about their condition. Me, I wish I could forget it ever happened. I watched people trickle in, little by little, as the years went by. Most of them as scared as this fella seems now. I started this little group when I established myself in Scottsland. I needed an outlet, a place to talk to people who were dealing with the same rejection. Now I look back and realize I just wanted to know I wasn’t alone. 

I was twenty when I ended up here, following my godfather. He said I am protected here, and set me up with some bodyguards, but I don’t even know who they are. I am forever grateful that I ended up here though. Without this town, I would stick out anywhere else - much like this man who keeps looking like he’s having a conniption. I start to wonder if I should just let him walk away, but he is dressed so handsomely that I want him to stay, if only to admire him. A fitted t-shirt with a pair of faded jeans, accenting his nicely rounded ass, taunts me. His weight is shifted backwards as though a retreat is eminent, but I am going to curtail his cowardice. Fresh meat is always delightful, especially when it looks this good. 

The curve of his neck is delicious and I can’t help but admire the soft bulges of muscles that the t-shirt embosses so perfectly. He might be 5'10", but I could be wrong. Next to my 6'2" frame, I must seem like a giant. Wish I could show him the giant in my trousers.

I clear my throat, and his face contorts. I wonder if he realizes that he is expressing his distaste so openly. If I didn’t know better, I would think his reaction is involuntary. 

After finally introducing myself, he seems less skittish, but looks can be deceiving and often are. I want to ask where he is from, but think it might be better to wait. He’s European, possibly British, and his accent sticks out. I want to know more. 

I have to hide my fascination with the man when he tells me his name. Nervously, he spits out the proper nouns as though it will be a death sentence. Maybe he’s just paranoid. Nevertheless, I have to admire the wonderful curve of his lips. They are so red. I wonder if maybe there is a little queen in him, but all of my intuition pointed to him being ‘one of the guys’. In essence, straight as a plank of wood nailed to the ground. Getting his attention will be a challenge. Harry Potter. For once, I can say Severus is right. This man is handsome. I could imagine being with someone like him. However, I haven’t been with anyone in years. I’ve forgotten what it is like to be intimate with someone. 

He’s licking his lips, and all my perverted mind is thinking about is how I wish I could feel them on my skin. I am going to have to call Severus after this; I think I need to know more about this man before we meet later. For now, I will allow him the safety of this haven, because sometimes a man just needs a place where he can feel accepted. Even if the circumstances surrounding it are hell. 

The Burrow is a safe place and my money makes sure of that. The desk attendant has always been a good girl – she even talked me through my last lover’s death. When Regulus got sick, he told me to leave, that I deserved better than watching him die. I haven’t told anyone he died yet, I don’t know how. It’s been over a year and a half, and I didn’t know that I was in love. I just felt safe with what he offered, the same feeling I get from this man in front of me. How can I feel safe with someone I’ve just met? 

He’s still standing, pensive even, which could be a good sign. Rather than feed my own silly notions, I realize it is time to move forward.

On impulse, I push him through the door. Why not? I won’t pass up an excuse to press my body against a good-looking man, especially when he looks like he needs a little help. He tenses when we touch, straight men always do. Instead of stopping, I head to the table at the back of the room and prepare some drinks. Harry is going to need a way to escape this place, even if it’s through the simple motion of placing a cup to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the pop as it runs into his mouth. Everyone needs a distraction here. His arms are crossed over his chest and his legs closed tight – so closed off. His discomfort seeps from every pore. His face is priceless when I arrive with the cup of soda though. 

Large, brilliant green eyes widen behind a pair of oval glasses, and his cherry-red lips tighten. His eyebrows are arched, and so cute. I just ignore the surprised expression, and tell him something about needing a way out. It seems to fit, but he seems confused. He will understand soon. There is an empty chair beside him, but also beside Oliver. I choose the one beside Harry. Oliver is a new breed of men that I wasn’t prepared for, and even now, I wish to ignore his obvious need of my affection. He's the type of man that demands all of your attention, no matter how much you have going on outside of your relationship with him. He's possessive and jealous in a way I have never seen. It makes my skin crawl to see him so icy. Normally he's all smiles. He speaks with the rest of the group, but today, one Harry Potter seems to have changed the entire dynamic of the people within. 

All around me are old faces: Oliver, Pansy, Millie, Dean, Michael, Alicia, Marcus, Colin, and the newest, Harry Potter. 

Pansy calls the meeting to start and asks who wants to start. She also reminds Harry that he doesn’t have to share. I wonder why it matters; we are all in the same boat. Therefore I can only don my life preserver and jump into the lake, because no one else is willing to start. I feel the familiar derision billowing inside me as I start to speak. I fucking hate this platter of exaltation for our current condition. It’s the gift that keeps on giving… literally. Stress, too much sex, depression, all of these are triggers for our damnation. Because that’s what it feels like; damnation, a punishment from the gods for carelessness. Most, if not all of us, received the gift unwittingly. How is it that all of us can be in the same boat? I only met one person who willingly got involved with someone bearing this virus of shame, and he sacrificed his purity for love. Now, they are married and have children. How cruel the fates can be. 

When I am done with my recollection of the fine young stud, Adrian, I watch Harry. He is visibly uncomfortable, and starts to sip his drink, but it is empty by now. I snort. I can’t believe I just snorted, but it seems so appropriate to do so. He doesn’t look at me, but I don’t know if I expected him to. His shoulders are so tense, it looks as if I were to shake him, they would shatter around him in little pieces. I wonder what makes him more uncomfortable, the fact that I am gay, or the fact that I can so easily re-tell the story of what happened to me. 

I notice that Oliver is getting more and more irritated with my obvious attempts to garner Harry’s attention. If looks killed, well, Mr Potter would be on a stainless steel slab at the coroner’s office. Oliver only gets this possessive when he feels threatened; I wonder if he can tell that Harry isn’t gay. I guess it doesn’t matter to him, though. I can only explain that we have no chemistry so many times, at this point it is his problem if we tried and failed miserably at sex. There was no spark, and I need fireworks. 

Millie goes through her story, and I only listen half-heartedly. I see no point with continually mentally re-hashing the intricacies of everyone’s personal crucifix. This is our cross to bear, but we can do it. Yes, I am angry, even after ten years, but I have learnt to deal with it. Even if those who are new to the folds of exile haven’t learned to deal with their burden, I have. It is painful, but there is life after this misery, even if I hide behind cynicism and foreplay with men more damaged than I. 

Time is up, and Harry jumps out of his seat like there’s a power line attached to the chair. He’s trying to leave, but I stand and head him off. I can’t help it. I am a moth to his flame. He has presence, even if I don’t want to admit it. As much as I try to fight the draw to him, it pulls me tighter and I now fear asphyxiation by his mere command. I wonder if magic exists, because surely this draw is magical. 

I feel a slight thrill when he bumps into me, and with mock irritation, accuse him of coming on to me. He side-steps easily enough, but he won’t get off that easy at the club. I try to introduce him to Oliver, but my old friend is being an ass. As soon as Potter leaves, I delicately remind him who is boss.

“Oliver, need I remind you that we are not in a relationship, and it would be nice if you could stop trying to murder people with your thoughts?” I ask.

He looks at me with surprise, but I feign interest in his teenaged angst. 

“Draco, I thought we had something. It hasn’t been long, why can’t we try again?” Oliver whines.

“Because you and I had our moment, and it didn’t work out. I am sure you understand when I say that I enjoy your friendship, but you cannot endeavour to stave my attempts at happiness.” I feel like I always have to pick my words carefully. To Oliver, rejection is like a death sentence, without the agony of actually dying. It is sad...

I watch him shift uncomfortably. His eyes are darting about; I can almost hear his thoughts. He wants to know if anyone heard me, he wants to know if I will forgive him, but being here with him makes me want to leave. I wonder if I have become so hard that I cannot even consider others emotions before crushing them. 

“Draco,” he whispers. He’s hurt, I can tell. Better now rather than later, I think. Dealing with angst is not my strong suit. I am usually the cause of much of it, but not the brunt, and that will not change anytime soon. I am going to have to become like my father if he doesn’t take the hint soon. Harry is nowhere in sight, so fear of embarrassing myself is far away. This is better. I will give Oliver one more opportunity to avoid my wrath and then, only then, will he have the privilege to see the Malfoy in me. 

“Oliver. Listen to me very carefully. I am a free man, and as such, I will not be tempered by your attempts at my attention. You are older than I am, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you at least act as if you aren’t some lovesick puppy? You and I, we are nothing more than friends. For both our sakes, I would like to keep it that way. Am I clear?” I inquire. He hasn’t seen the worst, and I will give him worse if he doesn’t back off.

“Crystal,” he grinds out. I hate having to be so blunt, but sometimes a poleaxe is effective when fighting a hedgehog. Overkill… but effective. Delicacy is not my strongest ally, but I have learned to deal with that too. I have little patience for people who either fawn or are ignorant. Maybe because they are happy in ignorance, I don’t know. I know it rankles when I hear someone spouting off some philosophy and I can’t even discern his or her own views from the mindless rambling. Legalist philosophy that becomes Darwinian rhetoric, where does it end? I don’t even understand how they make their connections. It must have been read somewhere, only someone stupid can effectively quote or misquote another stupid individual. 

Oliver bows calmly and finally walks away, giving Millie and Pansy the opportunity to speak. Pansy, gods help her, is the sweetest woman I know, but she’s a lesbian and won’t admit it. Millie has been trying to take that woman out for ages and she still won’t budge. I have to hand it to her; she has strength, if it is indeed strength and not stubbornness. If she’s being stubborn, well I am sure Millie can find a few ways to convince her. I kiss both Pansy and Millie goodbye and tell them I will see them next week. They smile, and Millie turns her undivided attention to Pansy. 

To say that I wasn’t hoping to run into Potter on the way to my car would be a lie. In fact, I want to see him again, if only to catch a glimpse of that wonderfully shaggy hair that adorns his head. I let myself imagine his eyes boring into me as we fucked, and dismissed it quickly. I needed to stop deluding myself, Potter was off limits, and even I could see that.

I dig my cell phone from my pocket, I need to make a call, and I don’t expect it to be simple; nothing with my godfather is simple. I browse the contact list, quickly find his name, and press send. The usual silence indicates the lines are connecting and then the dull chime sounds. After three rings, a rough, southern accent answers the engaged line.

“Hello?”

“Godfather,” I say, walking towards my car, a silver Mercedes-Benz SLR. 

“What do you want, Dragon?” His voice denotes irritation, although if it is directed at me, I am amiss as to why. 

“I wanted to ask you about Harry Potter,” I say lazily, pressing the remote keyless entry. The lights flare and a soft chirp indicates it is safe for me to open the doors without setting off the alarm.

“Boy, I have things to do other than answering your questions. Why the sudden interest? This morning you were ready to curse me for even mentioning it,” he asks, his voice a soft growl. Severus means well, he really does, but the man has no ability to contain his irritation. I wonder at times if that was all he ever felt, irritation. Guess he and Remus weren’t taking care of his needs, or he could just be a bastard naturally. I can’t say for sure, I honestly don’t know him well enough. I trust him out of necessity.

 

“I met him, just now,” I say, hoping to catch his interest. I hear a grunt and the phone shuffles against fabric or his face, who knows. I hear a door close and then his breathing on the other end of the line, I know he hasn’t disconnected, yet.

“Draco,” Severus says in a warning, “What is your interest in him?”

Severus never uses my given name. Alarms go off, and my body tenses. Hearing my name from someone else’s mouth is like acid against my skin, burning a hole deep in my soul. That name is like a curse, a curse that should never be spoken. For some reason, everything around me becomes clearer. The dusty grey of the street where I parked my car now seems like a lump of moon rock, flaky and dry. I smell the oil on the pavement, and it invades me, pouring into me like some silky stew, and I want it out. I smell pollen, rich pollen, wounding my sinuses, as the flowers in window boxes seem to come alive. Everything seems surreal as I try to fathom my godfather using my given name.

“I want to know more about him,” I reply with the slightest twinge of guilt. I shouldn’t have to tell him anything, Severus doesn’t even know how I could have met him. He has his ways, so no doubt he will find out where and how we met. If I come clean now, it makes me look innocent, which I am. The man is paranoid, though; with my father hounding him, I would be too. We have spent five years making it look like I am nowhere to be found. One mistake, and Lucius can swoop in and take me right back to his home and under his control. I am an adult, but with Lucius, I am nothing more than an heir to do his bidding. His evil is not worth my time.

“It is not my place to share his life story with you, Draco,” he growls. “I want to know how you met.” His words are no request. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he expects an answer.

“I can’t tell you that,” I riposte, feeling the guilt become more constrictive. I am not stupid; I am breaking my own rules even having this conversation. My words might keep him satisfied, but soon he will know the truth. 

“We can do this one of two ways, Draco. You tell me, or I find out on my own,” Severus says, his voice cold and tinny in my ear. “Take your pick.”

“The Burrow Recreation Centre,” I mumble. I don’t want to say why. I get in my car; it isn’t easy to admit my circumstances to him, but I know I have to. Just as I had no choice when my father found out, I will tell him. Maybe Lucius already told him, I don’t know.

“Draco, you are leaving something out, now I will get my answers one way or another. I hope that you make the choice and tell me, though.”

Now his voice seems soft, unlike his normal taciturn timbre. I sit and close the door of my car, feeling a little bit more at ease with my ten thousand pound automobile surrounding me. “Herpes support group,” I say with shame. The line goes silent, and I think he has hung up on me. I pull the phone from my ear and look at the screen, the time is still ticking away, so the line is active – now I have to wait. If I speak again, he may lash out, and being on the end of his verbal whippings is not fun.

“What you do in your own time is your affair. Why Mr Potter found himself there, I do not know, but I suspect he intended to keep it that way. Tell me, Draco; is there some sort of rule indicating confidentiality among the members of that group?”

“Yes, sir,” I growl, gritting my teeth. Shame rushes through me. I know it is wrong, I know I broke the one rule that keeps the group tightly knit together, but I couldn’t help it. Severus has an inside line on the actor and I want to know more. I try to put my key in the ignition, but I am limp. Maybe it was resignation, maybe it was irritation, but I need to wait.

“Now I suggest you forget about Potter. If he wants you to know something, he will tell you. I do not ever want you to get it in your head that I am your personal source of information. Do you understand me?” Severus poses, but he is not friendly. At least not friendly like I know him. 

“Yes, sir.”

The line dies, and I feel like I’m ten years old again. He just scolded me for wanting information about someone. Why is he protecting Potter? He is supposed to protect me!

*****

By the time I enter the club at seven o’clock, three staff are trailing on my heels. They are punctual; at least they give me a reason to respect them. Now all I have to do is wait until nine o’clock so I can watch my prey a little bit closer. I want Harry. There is no denying it. I don’t think I have ever sat and thought about one human being as much as I have Harry. Harry Potter.... His name rolls off my tongue so easily. I can imagine moaning it in the throes of passion, but I have to remind myself I am supposed to be teaching him something. Teaching him how to be a gay man, for a production… gods, this job always sucked. If Potter didn’t learn quickly, he would be in for a rude awakening. 

Potter walked in on time. I am impressed. I watch from the DJ booth as he roams the club, looking around, taking everything in. He didn’t dance, no one approached him, he just watches. I watch too. I watch the way he carries himself, his shoulders squared with confidence, his lips pursed with thought and his eyes brilliant with wonder. I watch – I like to watch. It might take some convincing, but I think I can get him to watch me… 

He looks bored on the balcony, but I see his eyes trained on the three beauties on the stage. They are sensual and uninhibited, a rare display of a triad. I haven’t seen many, but these three are very good together; somehow they keep the anger and jealousy out of their lives and work well together. At some point, I unconsciously start for the balcony; I think my mind took control of my body, because I don’t remember leaving the booth with Lavender. 

Before I know it, I am standing behind Harry and introducing myself. His face is priceless. At first, he looks angry, as if I had somehow deceived him. Which I did, but I don’t want to tell him that. My name is sacred and only those I feel I can trust are entitled to it. I take him around the club, at least I mean to, but for some reason I want him alone. I want him in my office; I need to impress upon him the importance of my name being Dragon, and that he was not to refer to me as anything but. Tomorrow I will throw him into the lion’s den, but tonight I just want it to be special. I am being selfish, but after my talk with Severus, I don’t want to deal with any more surprises.

He shakes my hand as he leaves, and tells me to call him Harry, and I love it. I let my hand linger a bit longer on his than I should have, but I can’t help it. His hand is so inviting, and if this is the only touch my greedy ass can get, I am taking it. Making Harry uncomfortable is not my goal, but if he walks out feeling that way, then tough. If he wants to strip in this play and kiss, he’s going to have to get comfortable with a strange gay man touching him. 

This is going to be a challenge, no matter what. At least Harry seems to have the sense that he should not go out and start making trouble, like so many of the other dunderheads that Severus brought to my attention. I never actually introduced myself to them; I didn’t think they were worth it. If I hadn’t met Harry earlier, I probably would never have taken the initiative this time, either. I am content with how things are going for the moment; this week should be interesting, if Harry continues to capture my interest tomorrow evening. I will show him a whole new world, but first he has to let me.


	6. What's In a Name

Chapter 6: What’s in a Name?

Harry’s POV – Tuesday

 

In the morning, I start reading through the papers that Severus gave me on Monday. It is time to start orienting myself to "Nat", this young punk I am playing. I am not going to concern myself with lines yet, there is no point. If I can’t get a feel for who Nat is, how am I supposed to deliver my lines effectively? If I am not comfortable being with men, how will I pull my weight in making this play successful? I suddenly feel very self-conscious about my ability to fulfil my obligations in this role. Fear settles deep within me, and I try to fight it. I can do this. I know I can.

If Ginny were here, she might tell me the same thing, but she isn’t here. I have to admit that even with her betrayal, I miss her. Her ginger hair used to splay across the pillows like a fiery crown. She is such a Lolita – no matter how old she gets, she will always look like a fourteen-year-old woman. I wonder how everything went south so fast. One day everything is wonderful, and the next she leaves for another business trip. I was going to propose to her the day after the charity auction at Hufflepuff Garden’s, but she was like a new person that night. I think she had just come back from London, I can’t remember anymore. 

I release the breath I am holding. My lungs feel lighter and the headache that threatened to pinch me into submission has faded. Ginny Weasley, she is my bane, my beauty. I decide it might be a good idea to get out some of my frustration before I start reading the required materials for this production. I’m tense, and tension only makes me put off the jobs that actually pay me. 

I slip on a pair of workout shoes and change shirts. I need something I can move in and t-shirts get in the way of what I am about to do. My soft cotton pants will do for now, at least they don’t touch the tops of my shoes; I have no fear of slipping on the varnished surface of my makeshift gym.

In my favour, the Dursleys didn’t trust Americans, so when we moved here, they enrolled Dudley and I in a martial arts programme. Kempo-Karate, a system that can trace its lineage all the way back to China and the founder – I love it. In the guest room of the flat, I installed a bag and have mirrors on the walls so I can practise kata, punches, and strikes. I am going to take some time and relax before I attempt to put myself in the shoes of a teenaged sex slave in the 1930s. What the hell does a sex slave do exactly? I mean, sure, they deliver all sexual goods, but what exactly will I be simulating in this play? 

I start to feel the tightness in my chest again, the taut pull of stress. Fuck, I can do this. I have one million dollars sitting on the line for a total of twelve bloody performances. I am going to have to practice an Arizona accent – unless Severus plans to change the period. Who knows what he will do… This is Severus! The man can make beauty seem ugly with a simple word; it changes your entire perspective on things. I don’t get it. How can he be so calculatingly cold? I almost want to call it a talent, but then again, he isn’t famous for his viper-like tongue. If he is with Remus, I don’t think I want to know. I am comfortable not ever knowing the details of Severus and Remus Snape’s sex life. 

When I reach my pseudo-studio, I begin to stretch, feeling all of the lactic acid twist and churn, until it no longer plagues my body. I guess the fever took its toll on me more than I’d like to admit. Thankfully, I am feeling better now. The fever is gone and mainly I am feeling some light muscle pains. There is still some burning when I piss, but the medicine will take time to work through my system. 

First, I stretch my legs, bent and taut, pulling the muscles as hard as I can to feel that delicious sting as they elongate and my body erupts with calm. Then I move up my body, stretching my trunk, and then arms, shoulders and neck. It feels good to release some of the pent up tension; now I might actually be able to get something done. 

The sun beams brightly into the room and I soak up its warmth. Even in September, Scottsland is nice and warm. Leaves are changing slowly, making the world seem brighter with their fading colours. As the leaves fall, they tiptoe across the wind and slowly hit the ground. I close my eyes and remain motionless as I centre myself. With my feet shoulder width apart, and my body at attention, I prepare to begin the kata. My fists are rolled tight in front of my hips and I open my eyes, focussed. What people don’t know is that this position looks submissive, but it is what we call a non-apparent fighting stance, because from here, I can still fight without jamming myself. How many people expect this to be a position from which one can fight anyway? I always find it amusing that Dudley never did understand the subtleties. 

If someone were to grab my wrists, I simply need to show respect, as the word rei insinuates, and with the roll of my elbow, the slide of my left foot and my fist connecting with the other making a half circle, I can press my knuckles into their gut. I can be free from their inexperienced hands. To an innocent onlooker, all I did was rotate my arms and then bend forward after breaking the connection. A trained eye would see the truth, but not some random bloke. It amazes me that the smallest moves can be the most deadly; in this case, showing respect isn’t deadly, but to look at my hands and body I am simply bowing elaborately. This is one of the first things taught in the dojo, the ability to show respect to our art, our sensei and ourselves. Dudley could never show respect to anyone, but he learned that I was not one to mess with. During a sparring match, he tried to take out my knees, which is an illegal move, and I quickly showed him that I don’t play dirty. I decided the moment I out-ranked him that if he tried any more dirty tricks, I would take care of the problem. 

When I felt the edge of my cousin’s foot pressing into the side of my knee, I quickly back fisted him, breaking his nose. I may have been smaller, but damn if I was going to let him play dirty. At least Vernon and Petunia understood there were certain… risks involved in martial arts to begin with, or I am sure I would have been punished thoroughly. I was sixteen then, almost ten years have passed and Dudley never understood the real reason we were there. He stopped shortly after, but thankfully, our sensei took me under his wing and allowed me to teach classes to earn my own lessons. If it were left to the Dursleys, I would have left when Dudley retreated.

My arms glide swiftly across one another as I raise them and mould them into each block, strike and punch. One crescent step forward, a front snap kick and a back fist; I continue the motions, speeding up as I go. Feeling my muscles protest at the exertion, I press on. There is no reason to hold back, and I don’t when I finally release the loud kiai. It bursts from my throat and lips, and I tremble to the core with the force of energy that expels from my body. With every striking movement, I breathe out, feeling the chaotic tension, leaving behind only my focus and determination. My muscles flex like bamboo and I stop finally with another loud kiai. I bring my feet together, left foot first and bow out slowly. My limbs no longer protest; instead, they lie limp with the intensity of my actions. In my chest, my heart beats wildly and I feel free for the first time in weeks. I no longer feel the need to fight losing battles; instead, I will finish another kata, fighting off the ghosts that now haunt me. 

I begin again, a new kata this time, feeling the form in my arms and legs, not even thinking. My body remembers the movements so my brain doesn’t have to, and it feels wonderful. Sweat is beading on my brow and above my lip, but I don’t care. I keep going until it begins to drip in my eyes. When I finish the movements, I wipe away the sweat, its salty sting reminding me how much I needed this. 

Aching and feeling more or less calm for the first time in ages, I prepare to jump in the shower. I turn on the CD player on the dresser and crank up the volume. No point in holding back, no one else can hear it. Despite what most people think, I don’t only listen to show-tunes. In fact, the variety of music in my collection ranges from classical to hip-hop. This must be one of Ginny’s CD’s because I hear the husky voice of Poe start up. As I listen to the lyrics, I find that they are ever fitting to my predicament. Everywhere I look, Ginny is there. Even if all her things are packed and back at her parents’ house, she is still here with me in some way. Come here. Pretty please. Can you tell me where I am? Please? Won’t you say something? I need to get my bearings…With softly scented vanilla and amber soap, I lather my body, feeling the stress melt away. I no longer feel like a hooligan; instead, I feel like a real person. I’m haunted, by the lives that wove the web, inside my haunted head…

Don’t cry, there’s always a way. Here in November in this house of leaves we’ll pray... Why do I find it so hard to forget? We had good times, but now, looking back, we never spent much time together after college. Did I think that by proposing, she would just stop travelling all the time? Did I really think it would matter? Sometimes I do, sometimes it did matter. This time it didn’t. She is gone, and all that resonates when I hear her voice is the sad sobs when she admitted our child is dead. Oh, how true this song rings. I am haunted. 

The song ends, and a new one begins, but I don’t care. I just leave it blaring as I brush my teeth and shave. There is no point in being hostile or even trying to mend these wounds with salves. Inside I feel broken, no matter how many of the pieces I put back together. For the time being, I am content with the knowledge that I seem to have a place in the world, if only temporarily. 

I dress in a pair of loose slacks, no point in trying to look good for myself. I don’t even slide a pair of boxers on - there’s no point. I might as well just admit defeat for the time being, because I think I am going to lay in bed until I have to leave for the club. At least if I get the small details, I can start putting them into action tonight. I don’t know if I should mention my exact role to Draco- no, Dragon- or not. I have to remind myself to call him Dragon. He seemed very insistent that I use Dragon and not his given name. I wonder why he introduced himself to me as Draco originally.

Why use a name that you don’t want said in public, and why does he feel safe using it at The Burrow? I don’t know why I am so interested; it’s not as if his naming is any of my business. I’m just an actor, assigned to this person, Dragon, to assist with the role I am playing. Maybe that is the whole point of my life, always playing some role. Assignation doesn’t occur for just any reason; maybe I am just fit for roles – the lives of other people, fictional or not. My life could lack meaning, but I don’t think that. I guess this is just one of the many roadblocks I am forced to face, and I can do it, sometimes I just don’t want to do it. 

I settle down in the bedroom with all of my papers strewn across the bed. The script lays in a pile to my left; I will look at it later. For now, it is time to learn about who I will morph into for this role. 

Nat. Nat, a sixteen-year-old boy, tied down to Billy. This is who I am. I am a punk to my jocker. In essence, I am a sex slave, trading my body for protection, housing, etc. Billy, my jocker, is a Hobo, who lives in a shantytown near Flagstaff, Arizona. The year, 1931, and Nat is desperately seeking refuge from Billy when he meets Bama and Shakespeare. He grows farther away from Billy as he sees all he is missing when meeting Bama and his lover. Then there is Lucky and Dodger, a very strange relationship indeed. Dodger is a straight, married man, proudly so – but eventually even he cannot deny the comforts that Lucky, a male trick, can offer him. I wonder what wonderful costumes they will come up with for this play… I am sure something that shows lots of skin, or at least that leaves little to the imagination. I have to chuckle, I suppose in some way I am perfect for this. I am constantly asked how old I am anyway; maybe Severus made a good choice for a change.

Submission… this is not something I am entirely comfortable with; honestly, I don’t think I know how to be out of control. Maybe that is the whole point of this exercise with Dragon; Severus did say the young blond wouldn’t force my boundaries physically. But what about emotionally?

I seem to have been thinking about Dragon more in the past day than I have Ginny. What does that make me? Does it make me less devoted to what we had? Should what I shared with Ginny even matter anymore? I can take the experiences and count them on one hand, knowing that sometimes there were highs and sometimes there were lows, but we always made it. Now, now I just sit and think about what I did, and how I failed as a man. I keep going round and round with this, because it couldn’t have been my failure as a man, at least I don’t think so. I was loving, devoted, honest – the things she wasn’t. Her job meant more than the relationship we shared. There was always something coming between us, some argument that we easily could have avoided.

I am pulled from my thoughts when my mobile rings. I hear it, but I can’t find it right away. I jump off the bed and start looking as the tone makes my body tingle with adrenaline. I don’t know why, but my heart is racing like a Formula 1 at the Santander British Grand Prix as I search for the silver-shelled phone. Finally, after stubbing my toe, I find the damn thing dancing on the floor. Severus. What the hell does he want? I finally pick up the vibrating mass and flip the cover, cursing as I hear his snort of derision on the other end. 

“Yeah, Hullo?” I say, sitting on the bed to inspect my big toe. 

“Potter. Dragon has just called me and asked me to inform you that tonight is a costumed event. Please be prepared. And for Christ’s sake, let that little fop know I am not his answering service,” Severus growls. I want to scream. Why do I care about some damn costume? 

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks, Severus,” I say and hear the line die. If I didn’t like the man, I would have called him back to share a few choice thoughts with him, but I don’t need that right now. 

I throw my phone on the bed, scream from the dull, throbbing pain that has settled in my toe, and see the digital display of my clock on the bedside table. I lost track of time, because it’s fifteen minutes to eight and I am supposed to meet Dragon at nine. What the fuck am I going to wear as a costume?

*****

When I arrive at the club, I am feeling horribly self-conscious. I don’t know if that is my brain attaching itself to the submissive role I have studied all afternoon, or if I am truly nervous. Not only that, but damn if I want my costume to be what sets me apart from everyone else, I need to mingle, I need to touch and be touched. If I flinch when touched, I fail, unless it is within the context of the character that is. It all seems so confusing at times; I mean, I shouldn’t have to delve that deep. The lines and other actors should be shaping my actions, not the other way around. I just need to get used to touches, kisses and being starkers in front an audience. This should be an interesting night…

I arrive at the club with five minutes to spare, but I wonder if that is enough. Dragon doesn’t seem like the patient type, and I honestly don’t want to be on his bad side. I hurry to the door and the Asian girl from the previous night is there. I am beginning to wonder if I dressed appropriately because she’s wearing some leather nurse’s uniform. The material is bright white and the entry-lights gleam off of it. She barely looks at me, but waves me on through the door and once inside, I knew I was out of place. I wonder if Severus did it on purpose. How was I supposed to know that costume meant something leather, lace or just plain risqué? Oh well, it doesn’t matter now. There is nothing I can do to change it, and I am not going to worry about it. Maybe I should give Dragon my mobile number, because an hour was not enough time to think of something or even buy something. It’s not as if I keep a stash of fetish clothes lying around the flat. 

I push behind the red curtains to the door with the security panel and quickly punch in the numbers. The light blinks and the door clicks and I head up the three flights of stairs to Dragon’s office. It’s slightly open, but I knock anyway. It inches open as my knuckles rap the surface and I hear his lazy voice from beyond, beckoning me inside. 

After seeing him, I feel like a complete prat. His platinum blond locks are framing his face beautifully as he looks at some of the papers of his desk. I gasp, I can’t help myself, it’s more of a reaction to his piercing gaze than any thing – I think. When our eyes connect, I feel a shiver stampede down my spine, and I slowly enter the office. I feel horribly exposed, even with clothing. I don’t know if that’s just one of his powers over people, but I feel like less of a man suddenly. 

“Harry,” he says softly and waves me forward. He doesn’t stand; instead, he almost ignores me and looks back at the pile of papers in front of him. He sits with an air of power, even the way he moves the pen across the paper. Each stroke is precise, almost planned for minutes before the ink spills from the ball as increasing pressure is applied. The absurdity of that thought hits me, but how often do we really stop and think before the pen in our hand reacts to each nerve impulse, and begins to outline our thoughts with words?

“Dragon,” I reply in greeting. I can’t stand on ceremony, especially when I don’t know what that is. This is a working relationship, nothing more. I know nothing about him.

“I have to finish these papers, just give me a moment,” he says politely, looking up. A small smile crosses his face. It reminds me of the look he gave me yesterday at The Burrow. I am not alarmed by it, not as I was yesterday. Instead it almost feels like we are friends, but Dragon could be a better actor than I. Yesterday I felt like his eyes betrayed something, uncertainty? I have the feeling that Dragon doesn’t like people to know how he feels about things; he’s hiding from something. I wonder if it’s anymore than I am hiding from; anger, sadness, frustration – all of these things that continue to build until I am ready to explode. I feel like a bloody volcano. Everything keeps getting harder, the more I do, the more I see and experience… I don’t know if it is worth it. My thoughts are back to the complete lack of substance in my life. "All the world’s a stage, the men and women merely players." If all the world is a stage, Dragon could be a star. However, I get the feeling that isn’t the life he wants. Even if William Shakespeare was a bloody fraud, that saying resonates. 

He’s biting his lip, I wonder if that is from frustration or concentration. People do the strangest of things when they are thinking, without realising it. Some bite their lip, much like Dragon is now, others tap their fingers or click the top of pens. Some pace, some bounce their leg and others talk to themselves – funny how I can watch others and tell them what their little habits are, but I can’t identify my own. Ginny told me once I ran my fingers through my hair when I was frustrated, but I don’t honestly care anymore. At the moment, there is too much gel to do so without pulling a large clump of it out. I can’t believe I dressed like this. Never again. 

I take a seat in front of the desk and admire his costume. Dark green leather stretches across his chest, without any sleeves. Only a small bit of cloth holds the jerkin on his sinewy shoulders. The buttons that adorn the front are silver, with dragons engraved on the face. There is no padding like armour; instead, the leather clings to his body like a second skin. His pale skin contrasts nicely, he has style. The front is stitched with silver thread and the neckline dips lower than usual. The normally neck high piece is scooped low enough to view the juncture of his collarbones, displaying a delicious dip. 

“Would you like a drink?” Dragon asks, still looking at his papers. A drink might be nice, a good way to settle the atmosphere and start us on a good foot. 

“Sure,” I reply, nervously fumbling with the hem of my shirt. I have to stop doing that, nervous ticks aren’t becoming for an actor. But am I an actor right now? I am just Harry, right? I want to think I am twice the man I once was, but at the moment, I feel like a little girl; cheeks blushed and eyes flattering everything in sight. It’s a very strange feeling indeed. Dragon looks at me over his shoulder and smiles; if only I knew what was going through that mind of his…

*****  
Harry’s POV – Tuesday Night Continued

 

Dragon stands and I watch as his body gracefully moves from his desk to a cabinet on the left side of the room. I don’t pay attention to my surroundings enough because now that I look closely, there is a door to the rear of the office. For a man who seems dark and brooding, his office is surprisingly comfortable. There is a dark leather couch to the left and a case full of books on the right, while his desk sits in the centre of the room with two leather chairs in front of it. Everything is a black or soft green with silver accents. He seems obsessed with this colour scheme. 

When he walks from behind the desk, I see that his pants are just like the jerkin. Dark green leather, skin tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. The only thing I can’t see is the outline of his cock, which I suppose I should be grateful for, but I can’t help admiring the way the clothes fit his body. There is no sag in the rear like most clothes; his arse fits the material perfectly. It moves with his body, and once again, I feel the flush of shame not realizing the kind of costume I should have worn. I notice that as he stops and pours the drinks, the pants look like a set of dragon scales and in the soft light, the jerkin is the same way. Shimmering with various dark colours, screaming, “Look at me!”

“I see that Severus called you,” he says dryly. He turns to face me with a slight smirk and two drinks in hand. 

“Uh, yeah, but now I feel like an arse. I didn’t realize the costumes were supposed to be… sexy,” I say, looking at his pale grey eyes. His weight shifts uncomfortably under my gaze and to break the tension, he brings me the glass.

“I told him costumes fit for decadence, but the man never did listen very well,” Dragon replies. He extends the glass to me, amber liquid swirling within. I accept because I want to, and his fingers touch mine again. I feel a tingle spread from the outside of them to my hand and attempt to maintain my composure. He smiles again and returns to his desk. I assume we are going to have a longer conversation before we venture into the club tonight.

I want to control this situation, though, so I start. “Why do you go by Dragon, but you introduced yourself with your given name?”

He looks at me, deciding whether he was going to answer or not. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable with the question because as soon as I asked, his fingers started to tap lightly on the desk. Papers are shuffled as he debates his answer, and I sip the warm scotch, waiting patiently for a reply.

“I go by Dragon because my given name is not safe to use. I use my given name at The Burrow because anyone who dares betray me there will be buried. I am the benefactor of that facility and as such, my demands are granted. Confidentiality is a must. When broken, it only creates more problems…” His voice wavers as though he just realises something and I wait. 

“You have to understand,” he starts quickly, “my father, while very much alive, is dead to me, and I will do anything to keep my location from him. Not only that, but sometimes a man just needs to stand on his own two feet. If I used my surname, I would be abusing his success for my own gain.” The last words he spoke were full of spite and I didn’t dare ask him anything else. 

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, why Dragon?” I ask, hoping to loosen his tongue a little. I, too, like to know people before giving them too much information. It is bad enough that he knows my most recent secret.

He sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about it, so I brace to answer his questions. No doubt he will have some things he wants to know in return, I think I can deal with that. I hope.

“I was born prematurely, and my father, the son-of-a-bitch that he is, demanded that I be named something strong. He said that since I was weak, at least I could have a name that people smart enough to understand it would fear. I was named Draco, dragon in Latin, because it was a name of power. It means leader, independence and strength, all things my father values. In his case, the strength aspects translate to power. I adopted Dragon with the help of my godfather, and I do not want my father to find me,” Dragon says, and then sighs heavily. He looks worn and I didn’t want to pressure him for answers. That isn’t my place.

“I built this world so I wouldn’t have to fear anything, and that is how I would like to keep it. Just think of it as a stage name. Which reminds me, around here, you might want to adopt a new name, that way you don’t bring too much attention to yourself.”

“Why not?” I scoff. “I mean, everyone else is doing it.”

“I don’t mean it that way, but do you remember The Burrow and all the calf eyes that turned to you as soon as you said your name?” Dragon asks, looking at me with a genuine smile.

I have to concede, he’s right. I don’t want everyone fawning over me because of my name. For a stage actor, I am fairly well known and I don’t want it out that I visit gay clubs… It could kill my reputation. I scoff this time, because what reputation do I honestly have?

“I might as well call myself Phoenix with the way things are going lately. I’ve literally been re-born without my permission,” I say. 

Draco looks at me thoughtfully and smiles. “I like it.”

“I was joking, you realize,” I reply.

“Doesn’t matter, you chose it and it fits. Whatever happened to bring you to The Burrow isn’t much of my business unless you plan to make it so, but I understand a little bit more than you think.”

“So Phoenix when I’m here, Harry at The Burrow?” I ask.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies. “You know, in Asian culture, the Dragon and the Phoenix are either mortal enemies or blissful lovers?” He smiles. There is no missing the warm, expectant smile on his cheeks. 

“Right,” I reply.

“So, anything else before we begin?” he asks, and I can’t resist the words eager to spill forth.

“Yeah, actually. How do you get into those trousers?” I ask seriously.

“Why, you just ask,” he replies and smiles, and I feel the blush rise on my cheeks. He bats his long, full eyelashes at me and those grey, stormy eyes scrutinize me. He starts to laugh so I am sure he sees it, even through the makeup on my face.

“I – I didn’t mean that,” I stammer, feeling horribly uncomfortable.

“I know, but I needed to play with you some. A good laugh might lighten you up, even if a few drinks don’t,” he says, standing. I wonder what the hell is going through his head! 

I feel my face burning against his words. I don’t know if I like his obvious flirting or not; I don’t know how I feel about anything. I am ready to get this started, though, I know that for certain.

“Oh, look, take my mobile number, please don’t call Severus again. He did not sound happy when I spoke to him and I don’t know if that was your fault or mine. So let’s just eliminate the middle man, yeah?” I say, hoping to change the subject a little bit.

“Why, Phoenix, if you want just me, I am happy to oblige. I am not that big on sharing, so if you had hopes of a threesome, I’m afraid I am not your man,” he says and I flush harder. He smiles. He’s enjoying this, I can tell. He’s intentionally being obtuse and I want to slap him. Slap him? Am I finding him too delicate to deck? I shouldn’t. He’s as much a man as I am, though he carries himself like a wealthy brat.

I think my skin is on fire, but it can’t be; Dragon hasn’t offered to douse me with water yet.

“You know what I mean,” I manage. His cheeks are still full from the smiles and I sit, bowing my head in embarrassment.

“Yes, I do. But like I said, you give me such good openings,” he says, removing his cell phone from a pocket that only his skin knows exists. “What’s your number?”

“704-798-0005,” I recite, watching as his fingers nimbly danced around they keypad.

“That’s easy enough,” he says, and dials the number. I feel my phone vibrating and open it to see his number on my screen. I ignore the call and save it to my contact list. I wonder if I should list him as Draco Malfoy or as Dragon. I don’t know, for now I will use Dragon. For some reason, knowing his real name is important to me. Somehow, his name holds a special link; even if I call him Dragon, I am thinking Draco.

Dragon turns and looks at me, still smiling. I wonder how long his usually cold face will allow such an action. He seems so emotionally distant, so why do I feel like I can trust him? 

“You ready to dance?” he asks finally. I nod and follow behind him, watching the leather cling to his body for dear life. It looks painted on. The secret of the tight leather pants will have to wait for another day, but I will eventually find out how to get into those trousers.

When we reach the landing where the main club is, we step from behind the curtain and there are people everywhere. Lights flash in all directions, pulling me towards the dance floor. Red, blue, green, yellow, and a plethora of colours to entrance the mind, as the body moves in time with the thudding bass of the best house music in the world. Costume night must be a big deal, because I have never seen so many people dressed like this and not be in the middle of a performance on stage. Every one of these people clings to the possibilities of sybaritic release at the end of the night. At least their costumes indicate their desire to be noticed, fondled and fucked hard. I am the only one out of place…

There were women who wore large wings, some feathered, and others that were vinyl like bats or demons. Their dresses clung tight to their bodies, and their breasts were pert and bulging over the front of their clothing. Then there were men walking around with leather, lace and anything in between. Some were collared and led around by their Master, others had an array of whips, chains and gags readily available. It is impressive. Vampires, gods, werewolves, goblins, demons and fairies are melted against one another and I felt silly. Everyone seems so content and me, I am just watching like a shocked child. It’s like a giant Halloween party in the middle of the week! 

The music blares around us and Dragon takes my hand, leading me towards the bar. I don’t mind and for a moment, we wait while drinks are mixed. A cold glass ends up in my hand and I drink it without question. I have never felt so strange in my whole life… I feel like nothing matters, and that I could shag someone in the middle of the dance floor and no one would care, including me. I don’t know what Dragon gave me, but it is sweet and packs a punch. 

The drink doesn’t last long; the empty glass is pulled from my hand only to be replaced by another. It’s strong, but I don’t mind. I need this, at least I feel like I do. Everything I have been holding in feels like it can flow freely and no longer hurt me. I think that’s the alcohol talking, but I won’t argue. There is no point bitching at your psyche when usually it knows better, what you need – the id, Freud’s answer for the most primitive of feelings, desires. My ego can rest for tonight, I don’t mind. Logic and reason do not work in these situations and I do not plan to argue with that. 

Dragon could be Iago to my Othello, but I have a feeling that there is a lot more to him than even his closest friends know. Even after having a day to contemplate turning this offer down, I am down to learning the secret of Dragon, not of this play. Each look is something different, something exciting. 

There are various men eyeing me, but soon Dragon, the obviously attractive one, captures their attention. It’s not as if I care if they find me attractive, not really. I’m not gay. I am enjoying my drink and watching the crowd, so I don’t notice at first the lines of hopeful lovers approaching Dragon. They each make their way slowly to him, dancing seductively as he smiles and nods his head. I wonder if the nod is in appreciation or just acknowledging their attempts to lure him to their bed. He’s enjoying the attention, which is fine, except I am here for a reason. If he’s admiring every walking cock in the room, he isn’t helping me. 

After the fifth hopeful approaches, I actually walk away and head to the balcony. People don’t congregate up there as much, at least I hope not. I can’t stand to sit there and watch him pick up anyone else. My first stop is the bar; to hell with control, I’m supposed to touch men and be touched in return. I haven’t been intimate in anyway with another human since Ginny, and I’ve never been intimate with a man. The closest to intimacy I have ever been was sparring matches and ground fighting. I’ve never kissed a man, I’ve never even kissed my uncle. I can’t remember if I ever kissed my father, I was too young to remember their deaths. 

I am right, the balcony is basically clear and aside from a few askew glances, no one pays me any attention. I go straight to the bar and order a drink. I need it, my nerves are a mess. I have never been this fearful in my life, so why now? What is it about this place and this atmosphere that I am so afraid of; is it Dragon that ignites this fear within me? Fear of the unknown? 

After the second drink, Dragon finally appeared on the stairs. I know because I was facing them, keeping track of how long it took him to arrive. By now I was angry, and I couldn’t even say why. Maybe because it was eleven o’clock and I do have a semi-normal routine during the week. I won’t mess that up for some ponce! I hope he’s had enough attention by now, because I am ready to leave, but I can’t. I feel like Severus has some invisible rope tethered to my body, chaining me to these walls. I lean against the bar and watch various couples; two women are snogging to my right, but I don’t care. I’m not sure I ever really found it as attractive like some of my counterparts at the college. The dark-haired one is dressed in a French maid dress, and the other, I’m not sure, but she looks like an elf. My attention drifts, but my eyes are always closely watching the stairs. I wonder if he will figure out where I am, or if I will have to go searching for him. I am not moving, just simply watching as the blond finally makes his way towards me through the few people congregated on the second floor. 

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

“Hey,” I reply, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my disappointment. Why I feel this way, I don’t know.

He puts a hand on his tight leather pants and runs it from his thigh to his hip, a gesture used to gain my attention, no doubt. He looks at me with those stormy grey eyes and smiles sweetly, just like he did yesterday and I feel that damn tingle down my spine. “Are you pouting?” he asks.

I look at him challengingly. “No,” I say. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you ran off as soon as the sheep joined the herder.” He giggles. Why is he giggling? I assume it is the alcohol, but I don’t think this is the time to laugh like a schoolgirl. All he seems to be missing is the white button-down, red ribbons and a pleated skirt that barely covers the tops of his thighs. 

At this point, I am aware he has enjoyed one too many drinks and I wait, patiently. I do not want to be rude, but my mouth opens and word vomit occurs before I can stop myself. “I suppose all those sheep are going to warm your bed tonight then?” Now that the words have been spoken, I don’t care. His feelings are of no concern to me. Not really. It isn’t my place to play keeper for the man. He’s old enough to keep track of his own responsibilities. 

He looks at me, affronted, but I am not sure if that is it or not. I try to ignore it. 

“Come, dance with me,” he says, extending a hand. His wrist is up, and I see the small, bluish veins through his pale skin. He presented me with an erogenous zone, I wonder if he realises it or if it was just a fluke. I am tempted to caress the exposed flesh before taking his hand. I think better of leading him on and remind myself this is a dangerous game.

I take his hand, feeling a shiver travel from my palm where our hands are connected, all the way to my stomach. It settles uncomfortably as I try to fight it off, but it stays like a stone lodged within me.

When we arrive at the crowd of writhing bodies, he pushes us to the middle, displaying his moves. His hips are like water, flowing slowly and with very specific stopping points, then they rotate again and I wonder where the hell he learned to move like that. 

For the first few songs, we dance separate, with only our hands touching briefly for a spin that he makes look like some remixed version of ballet. I wave my hands, encircling them, ready to break into kata just for show. Slowly our bodies move closer together, my hands reaching out bravely to take his hips, feeling their lithe power beneath his leather trousers. In the moment I drop my guard, he spins me so that my arse is pressed into his groin. He humps lightly as his hands travel to my hips, pulling me closer and closer. 

“You can touch me, you know. I don’t bite,” he purrs in my ear like a lusty cat, and I feel his breath against my neck in soft, warm puffs. The scent of alcohol drifts to my nose, but I don’t care. Then I smell the scents of his body, the bitter sweat mixing with patchouli and almonds. I put my hands on top of his, slowly getting used to touching him. With delicate caresses, I feel the goose bumps flare to life on his thin hands. I stop when my arms are jammed and slowly wrap them around his neck, ghosting the tips of my fingers across his sweaty neck. I am not sure what I feel, but it doesn’t feel as wrong as it should. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to have my body pressed against his, and I hope it’s the alcohol playing tricks on my senses.

Then, without warning, he pulls away and stumbles through the crowd towards the bar. I don’t know what the problem is, but I am sure to find out soon enough. I follow Dragon, stopping to stand beside him. He is perched on one of the many stools at the bar, sipping a drink. For his sake, I hope it was his. There is no telling what someone put in the damn thing. 

“Are you all right?” I ask, leaning in close. He pulls away and nods his head. “Look, Dragon, I will see you tomorrow, OK? It’s almost two, and I need to take care of some things in the morning,” I say, turning to leave.

“Phoenix!” he yells, getting my attention. I face him; his face is flushed and sweat drips in small rivulets from his flaxen locks. 

“You did well tonight,” he says and stands up. “See you tomorrow, OK?” 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” I say as he walks passed me, barely touching my shoulder with his. 

*****

When I arrive at home, Kingsley is changing light bulbs in the lobby. He turns around and smiles when he sees me come through the door.

“Harry Potter, good to see you. Where’ve you been hiding?” 

Kingsley is a tall, chocolate-skinned man. His humour is something to get used to, but he’s a good man. He’s wearing his usual blue overalls with a white t-shirt and soft, brown boots. He definitely looks like a building super.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, smiling. The alcohol is still in my system, even with the amount of dancing Dragon and I participated in. 

“Where’ve you been, dressed like that?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. I have to do research for the play… Was hired Monday,” I say.

“What kind of play is it this time?” he asks. 

“It’s called “The Jocker”, basically a chronicle of the lives of five gay men, and one straight man who gets involved with one of the tricks. Kind of crazy really… We start auditions on Monday at the theatre,” I say, feeling my eyes drift closed as I speak.

“Any black roles?”

I almost want to shake this man. I have told him before, it doesn’t matter if he is black or green, if he’s a good actor, no one will care. That is what makeup is for; people of the stage know how to improvise.

“Actually, yeah I think so,” I say, feeling unsteady. 

“What time do the auditions start?”

“Eight. Be there early, though, Severus is a tough nut to crack,” I say with a fond smile.

“So, did you ever think you would play a gay man, or were you hoping it would never happen? ’Cause, boy, you are as straight as they come,” he jibes.

“It’s alright. That’s why I’m just getting in. I was down at Dragon’s Tail. I am acclimating to the gay scene, as it were. Learning how to touch and be touched without making a fool of myself. Though tonight I seem to have effectively done something wrong. I dunno…” I say, not thinking about what I am saying.

“Well, even if I don’t get the part, maybe I can meet someone,” Kingsley says and I laugh. 

“I thought you were seeing Terrence, Torrence, something like that?” I ask.

“Too black,” he says, shaking his head. His lips began to pout and I wonder if I really want to know the answer the question I am about to ask.

“What? OK, Kingsley, excuse me for sounding like an ignorant white boy, but isn’t that racist? Or something?”

“Well, no. Look, lemme break it down for you. He’s African, which means he is proud of his skin being dark, almost like the night. African-Americans, as it were, are raised mostly to despise darker skin. A lot of times, our parents, more old school than others, teach us to hate ourselves if we are too dark. It stems from slavery, I don’t know if you could ever understand, but trust me, you don’t want to. It’s pointless, but it’s nothing you get over, overnight.”

“OK, well on that note, I am going to bed. I guess I will see you bright and early Monday morning, King.”

“Yeah, sho ‘nuff, Harry. Have a good night.”

I wave half-heartedly from the lift and ride to my floor, feeling confused. Stumbling up the stairs, I crash, feeling that tomorrow I will regret something.


	7. Ginger & Spice

Chapter 7: Ginger & Spice

Draco’s POV – Wednesday

 

In the morning, my hangover threatens to cleave my skull in two. I am grateful for the amount of alcohol I drank; were it not for that, I think I would have ended up wanking off to images of Harry all night. I haven’t had a hard-on like that in ages. Everything about him pulled it out of me. It was painful, because I couldn’t do anything about it. Damn those green eyes and the way his body moves against mine, it isn’t fair! He has infiltrated my mind, and even in his innocence of what he does to me, I think behind those emerald green eyes he is perfectly aware. When I phoned Severus yesterday and asked him to call Potter, I never would have thought that Harry would take the costume so seriously. Granted, he is a stage actor, but still, he should have at least registered the fact that my club is not normal. Therefore, normal costumes need not apply.

When he came to the office, I tried to keep my composure. I guess living as the son of a politician, you learn quickly not to snicker during certain situations. I even hid my admiration for his boldness. Just looking at him makes me want to know more. Somewhere within those dark, calming eyes, I feel a connection. Last night, emerald was surrounded by onyx. Dark kohl lined his eyes, creating a sunken, deathly effect. His entire face was covered with sallow, greenish base with red and blue lines. I am guessing they were supposed to be dead veins. His hair, I think, was the most normal part of his costume. It was spiked wildly, giving him a youthful, very gothic look. His clothes were ripped, the white button down shirt caked with various grime, and his black pants tattered and covered in mud and fake blood. He must have worn contacts because there were no glasses hiding his sharp, very male features this time. He came to a gay club as a zombie… I wonder if he felt like the living dead. Was it a way to say how much he felt out of place? I wonder, if there was any meaning at all behind his choice in dress?

He looked good, though, and I enjoyed the funny looks everyone gave him. He was so out of place – a plank of wood amidst the most twisted people in the city, we are tight, coiled springs in comparison. It must have been a strange sight, a zombie amidst devils, angels, faeries, and demons. To me, the un-dead appearance was endearing. He was so out of place, but he didn’t care. He still carried himself with poise, easily making the femmes look like poorly dressed china dolls. No wings or leather adorned his skin and he still looked like a god. I am not so shallow as to believe that on looks alone, he and I would make a smashing pair. Although, on principle, he is off limits. It is all an act, and that is all I will ever see behind those emerald green eyes. Gods, did he smell good!

I can still smell him. In my nose and mouth, I taste each bead of sweat that rippled down his pale, greenish face, and watched his glittering eyes fume with jealousy every time I ignored him. I wasn’t ignoring him; I was simply enjoying the attention of those I might have a chance with. Phoenix - Harry – and I will most likely part ways when this is all over. Although hope settled itself within me, and there is a part of me that wants to fight for his affection. 

I have never based any relationship solely on looks, but just from what I see, I want him. I want his mind, with all its quiet grace, and his body, with its powerful determination. He may be mine for the next week, but after that, it will be over. How sad am I that I don’t want it to end so soon? 

There has never been a man who could make me tingle the way he does. When I finally got him to the dance floor, the alcohol must have begun to work its magic, because when he touched me, it felt good. It felt amazing to be pressed against him, as his finger tips brushed against my neck and cheeks, pulling me closer. I am now without, and I am pining at the loss. My behaviour must have seemed strange, but I didn’t want to freak him out. I have no idea if he would have reacted poorly to knowing the sheer control he had over me at that moment. My body simply reacted to the stimulus and I, being wanton, allowed it. For brief moments, we fit together, our bodies twisting to some primal urge. I don’t know how I maintained control. Feeling the curve of his arse pressed to my needy sex only served to agitate me. I do not believe that he would have been too put off by my reaction to his body pressed against mine, but there is no sense in trying my luck. I am, after all, a man. I have needs, desires, and above all, self-control. 

A part of me wants to hunt him down, take him and claim him as my own, and then let him go back to his world. We come from two different places, even if no one else can see that. He’s perfect, and me, I’m just some rich ponce, who enjoys drinking and dancing at my own club. I enjoy hiding behind my mask; I enjoy this game of ambiguity that I play with my customers and my employees. 

Everyone wants to know who Dragon is… I wonder if anyone ever truly wants to know Draco though. Will I always end up hiding from the world, simply because of my father? I don’t want to hide, but sometimes I feel like my life is at stake, and I’m not ready to die. I’ve had my crushing moments, my defining moments as it were, and I will not let Lucius Malfoy taint what I am. It is not his place to control me, no matter what his expectations of Draco were. I am no longer Draco, at least not to anyone that matters. I will always wake up alone in this huge bed, longing for more. I guess that is just the price I pay for being born into this world. I am far from perfect, but I will not let any man, whether lover or blood, control me. I suppose there is a fine line between love and hate, but I do not intend to teeter in the awkward balance between the two either. I once loved and respected my father, now I harbour only contempt. One day, I may have the honour of showering him with my animosity, but for now, I wait. 

I hesitate rolling out of bed when I am done with my recollection of the evening. Even if I am alone, this is my sanctuary. I have never shared my bed with another; not even Regulus and I ever made love here. Call me crazy, but I just didn’t want the ghosts of the past hanging on for too long; they seem to get into the mind and never let go. I spent a lot of time with Regulus, but it was usually at his place. I was more comfortable that way.

I go to the window in my bedroom and sit on the padded sill. Sometimes, just looking out over the city from above makes me feel better. I still feel alone, but for some reason, being up here, while everyone below rushes about, it feels powerful. If I were a child, I might imagine I am sitting on my throne, watching as the little people pass by about their boring lives. In reality, were this throne mine, I would be the sad little person. 

After a good stretch and watching as the sun spreads its embrace across the city, I sink deep into thought. I want to know why my feelings are so out of control. I don’t know if it is the rough sleep or the daydreaming about Potter, but something has to give. I need more than this. I need more than this loneliness that creeps into me without warning. I need something to calm my tattered nerves. At the moment, there is only one cure… but the pill is hidden behind brilliant green eyes, the one person I have ever looked at so fondly holds the key. The lock will break one day, but for now, I am content in knowing that he and I can at least serve some use to one another. I never thought I would ever feel this flutter of my heart again, but the moment I saw that black hair, it happened. And now, after many years alone, many years in hiding, I am back to feeling like an eighteen-year-old who has just discovered the joys of love. Not only have these alien feelings become rampant, but also the uneasiness about how I feel has brought other changes. Other past events that haunt me are now becoming real again, taunting me, begging for my allegiance. This morning the dreams started again. I know what they are, but I still don’t want to remember. I would truly rather dream of Harry than my past. Oh Gods, this is sad. I should not be thinking this way. 

I thought all of this was behind me, but it seems I was wrong. There is nothing less satisfying than your past bearing down like the weight of water. I cannot allow my past to dictate my future, at least that is what Regulus said. He told me to embrace it, and as always, I am ignoring his advice. I should heed it, but I don’t want to, because I, too, am foolish, and accepting my past means altering my future. I don’t want to become like my father. Accepting my past means a confrontation that is long overdue, as well as the accompaniment of painful memories, long since buried in the deep recesses of my mind. No, he won’t win. Lucius Malfoy will not sway me; he will not have this power over me. 

I take a long shower, regretting it once Harry’s scent is gone. I wanted to relish in it, not wash it away as though it was something to be ashamed of – because it was quite the opposite. I should have been proud for such a strong man to press himself against me, willing me to take control, willing me to show him what is missing in his life. I can give him that; I can give him that silent reassurance that whatever his decision is, I won’t take it for granted. Even seeing him now, I don’t take him for granted, instead I want more. I want to be close to him, I want to touch him… I want him to touch me, not because he has to, but because he wants to. 

The warring emotions take hold again, and I set out to begin my day. It is a lonely day, but at least the comfort of seeing Harry Potter, the Phoenix, looms at the front of my thoughts. What will he do to capture my attention tonight? 

*****

I decided to go out and grab some food before going to the club tonight. There is no point in starving myself like some anorexic teenager. Just because I have a lot on my mind, doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself properly. There is a little Italian eatery just down the road that I always find sates my hunger and makes me feel comfortable. Not many people go there because the owner is supposedly Mafia, but I don’t care. 

A walk might do me good. I leave, after dressing in a nice pair of twill khakis and a loose black button-down. I don’t need a coat, not yet, so I enjoy the easy stroll. There are a lot of people rushing around like angry hornets. Their faces are all sour and their bodies tense and moving quickly. Me, I’m walking calmly, there is no reason to rush. People so often overlook the beauty in life if they rush around as though the world is ending. I used to live life that way, when I lived with my father. When he was home, we spent a lot of time rushing around from one engagement to another, and when he wasn’t, nannies were taking me to art classes, athletics, and anything else my father saw fit to enroll me in. 

I pass the various shops, watching as children run amuck, tugging their parents’ sleeves to beg for toys. Then there are the children who longingly eye the items in front of them, like a dog taunted with fresh meat. It really is sad that if they aren’t going to buy the little naggers something, that they bring youths to these stores. It is all over priced shit in my opinion, but then again, I don’t have children. Never will, if I can help it. No child deserves the Malfoy family treatment, and obviously it would take a hell of a lot of sedatives, and a blindfold, to get me in bed with a woman. I shudder at the thought. There has never been a woman; I’ve always known what I am.

I keep going; there is no point in watching the little rug rats plead with fake tears for their parents’ affection. As I continue down the sidewalk, one of the shops has music piping onto the streets. As I draw closer to the shop, I see dressed mannequins in the store window, and a gaggle of gauche females. They look like they are trying so hard to fit in with one another, but it was obvious that at least two had no idea what they were doing inside that store. Their bags were much smaller than the rest of the group, and I realise that they were in over their heads. That is how it tends to happen, at least among the middle-class, who try to assimilate into the higher ranks. 

The sun is starting to set, its warm orange and red rays dancing along the street. Papa Sanguini’s is only one more door to my right. In the truest sense of the word, this place is a dive. From the outside, it looks like a greasy establishment, full of dark-skinned, black-haired Italians, but I have never seen any. The tables are covered with red and white chequer plastic tablecloths, and the chairs have white, plastic seats. If the food wasn’t good, I wouldn’t be heading this way. There is no way in hell someone like me should be here. I am used to the five-star cuisine of Aberforth’s Alcove. 

I can already smell the sumptuous aromas filtering into the street. The door is propped open and the tables are mostly empty, but I don’t care. The food is good and if the rumours are true, then this place is just a front anyway, and my eating here honestly doesn’t matter. I usually come here once or twice a month, and a new girl is taking orders every time. This time, a young East Indian girl is staffing the counter. Her lapel has a nametag that reads Parvati, and I wonder why the hell she is here. She seems so out of place, an exotic flower amidst pansies; she’s like a lotus, and the little purple and yellow flowers can’t compare to the opulent brilliance of those white petals. How strange that I should think such a thing; usually I could care less about the people I interact with outside of the club. Even then, I really don’t care about their personal lives. They switch their schedules as need be and if there is some family emergency, they let me know. I take great pride in knowing that my employees not only take their jobs seriously, but that they are all competent. 

With a head full of ebony hair and dark skin, this young woman is most likely a treasure among her people. A genuine find as far as wives are concerned. I wonder if I were straight, would I want to be with a girl like this. If I were straight, would she attract me with those large, slightly slanted brown eyes? She’s wearing modern American clothes, nothing too revealing, which I always find amusing. If Indian women weren’t supposed to wear anything too revealing, then why the hell did they wear saris? Their entire rib cage was visible, along with their bellybutton, and the soft lines of their backs. I don’t understand – but then again, I didn’t grow up with the same sense of classes as her family. My curiosity is piqued and I want to ask her more, but it’s better that I not act interested. It’s bad enough that I am mistaken for straight… that’s like a death sentence to my sanity. 

I focus on the task at hand: ordering food. I stop at the counter and put my hands on the shiny surface with a soft smile. I reserve the real smiles for courting. 

She smiles big in return, with her very straight, very white teeth gleaming at me. “Hello, welcome to Papa Sanguini’s, may I help you?” she asks with a friendly lilt. Her lips are nicely shaped, reminding me of Harry. Dammit, get a hold of yourself, he’s just some pet project of Severus’… 

I pick up a menu and smile, trying to decide if I want to hang around to eat or if I want to leave. After looking at the menu a little, I decide I should just eat here and place my order. She’s struggling to keep up with my requests, and then I hear a familiar voice rudely cut me off. I only know one man with a light English accent, the evidence he’s spent most of his life in this strange city. Though he sounds more refined than other accents I have heard, I will have to ask him more. 

“Dragon, give the poor girl a break, she’s new,” he says. I think I can hear a teasing smile in his voice, but I turn to look just in case.

I’m right. He’s smiling, and standing relaxed behind me. Our eyes lock after I undress him and the broad warmth of his face extends to his eyes. Such mirth, I wonder how he can be so happy. It is too much to hope his happiness stems from seeing me. I’m being an arrogant prick and have just been caught. What did I expect?

All I did was specify that I wanted my onions chopped, not whole, and that the meat should be well cooked, but still tender. There is nothing wrong with wanting the best, even if you chose a place that obviously doesn’t offer the best. I mean, I will gladly take the best of what they have to offer, which I don’t think is unfair. Especially when even small, feared restaurants have hidden talents. 

“Phoenix. I didn’t expect to see you before this evening. What brings you here?” I ask, looking at his nearly perfect eyebrows raise in surprise. What a stupid question, obviously he is here for the same reason I am: food. I don’t like this surprise. Well, I do, but at the same time, I want to run away. Why in the hell can’t I make up my damned mind? Maybe it is the fact that I am attempting to hold a civil conversation with the actor that surprises me. I mean, I can’t always discuss my club and trivial things. I have needs too, even if they aren’t solely intellectual. 

“I come here a lot, it’s just around the corner from my flat,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Flat. So he is British. I think it’s about time I invite him to spend a few moments with me. I want to know more and I will never get the information at the club. There is just too much to be done while he is there. I am currently over-indulging in his attentions; I should be working out the next marketing gimmick, or finding performers. I have such loyal customers; it would be a poor showing on my part not to at least attempt something new. 

“Would you care to join me?” I ask, hoping that he says yes. I force the nerves away; it isn’t right for me to feel like some nervous child around this man. He’s incredible; I’ll give him that, but how can he reduce me to an attention-starved pet? If I were a cat, I would be twining myself around his ankles, begging him to pick me up and pet me. I hope he would rub behind my ears, and I would purr, needing only his affection – if I were a cat… 

I am taking the "gingerly" approach with this one. He may not like the direct approach, but then again, he may need a rock to knock him on the head before reality dawns. I fancy him. 

“Sure,” he replies. I can’t believe it. He places his order; I notice he doesn’t ask for any changes to the original recipe and I feel a bit like an arse. It is unfair that he should have it so easy. I’m too picky and it shows. My upbringing made me a brat. I suppose I can admit that, but will deny it if he dares rat me out.

I am nervously looking around the restaurant when I feel his hand on my lower back, sending those damn tendrils of fire through my skin. I am too confused to honestly just say something about it; it isn’t as though I’ve never felt a man leading me somewhere. It’s merely a friendly gesture, a means of getting my sluggish feet to begin moving towards a private table at the front of the little restaurant. 

He waits for me to sit, which I find odd. Usually men do that for women – I am no woman. Has he not noticed the lack of breasts? I think my clothes last night were tight enough to indicate the lack of cleavage, but maybe he is forgetting who I am. I try not to show my irritation, but his chuckle indicates I have shown my emotions. I ignore his smile, it’s too perfect and I cannot afford to get lost in it. I wonder, can he see the desire behind my eyes? Can he see the quandary I feel? I hate this back and forth – I like him, he’s off limits, he’s sensual and desirable, but he’s straight, I’m gay and he’s not. Why does it have to be so complicated? He is like a delicate spice that ensnares the senses, drawing me closer, making me want to taste more. Feeling the texture beneath my fingertips isn’t enough, I want to taste. His personality is like ginger, fun, spicy and full of surprises. His skin reminds me of the root, so very creamy and inviting. 

I break my own train of thought by asking him where he lives. It isn’t a hard question, and he smiled and nods to the girl who took our order as she brings over our drinks. I have a beer, and he has a bottle of water. How very amusing. 

“I live in a flat on Parkwood Court; my ex-girlfriend picked it out. I used to hate the place, but now it’s not so bad, I guess,” he says. I am just around the corner from him. 

“Oh yeah, I’m around the corner from you. I have a penthouse in Hogwarts Square,” I say, watching his eyebrows lift slightly. It is either surprise or interest, but I can’t tell. He sits slightly slouched, I wonder if he is comfortable like that. A moment later, he leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, smiling still. 

“Now that you know, are you going to come looking for me, Dragon?” he asks, and I think he’s flirting. The look on his face is the only thing that betrays the possible interest, his voice is steady and his body still relaxed, at least for the moment. 

“No, I don’t think that would be the best thing,” I say and smile. His lips straighten and I can tell he doesn’t like my reply. It isn’t hard to see he’s disappointed by my revelation, but what am I supposed to say? ‘Of course I want to find your home and shag you senseless you dolt! Don’t be absurd, if you allowed me, I would kiss your feet with gratitude for paying attention to swine like me.’ No… it is pointless to even think such thoughts. I caught myself thinking them one too many times already and being here with him only makes it worse. 

“I was making a joke, Dragon. Please don’t take things so seriously,” he says. “You remind me of Severus a little too much for my liking at the moment.” When he hisses the final T, I look up, not realising that my focus has trained on the table. 

“My apologies,” I say, feeling the heat of embarrassment lick at my cheeks. If Harry sees it, he spares me the further shame of pointing it out. I have the urge to ask him more about this ex, but I’m not sure if it is entirely appropriate. “Can I ask you something personal?”

He nods. I wonder if he nodded because he can’t trust his voice. “Are you still living with your ex?” I ask. I know it was a selfish question, but I needed to know. I needed to know that if things went down the twisting road of confusion, that I could at least have a chance, no matter how slim. My logic is flawed, but all the same, I need to know.

“No, she left,” he states simply, his eyes falling to the table. I couldn’t help but notice the change in his eyes as he said the words. They went from sparkling to a dull jade in a matter of heartbeats, and I am to blame. I feel bad for making him sad, I want to make it stop, but I don’t know how. I change the subject; I can get more answers later. 

“Tell me about this play you are working on. If I know more, I might be able to help you,” I offer. It is the least I can do.

He looks up at me, seemingly calculating his response. I can wait patiently, no need to rush, not when between now and the time he shows up at the club, I will have surely devised a plan of action. 

He hesitates and then smiles softly. I guess there is no reason not to tell me what’s going on. I can tell he doesn’t want to say, though… I wonder why. He blushes, and just as he is about to explain, Parvati brings our food. He is saved by the meal and idle small talk I coax from him. He looks comfortable overall, and I am too. He smiles frequently during the course of the conversation and isn’t shy about eating. I’m impressed, maybe because it’s generally the femmes who get self-conscious about eating with their man. Who knows…? I just know that I like the way this feels. 

When we finish eating, I realise it is rather late and that I really should be getting to the club. There is much to do and I can’t spend the rest of the afternoon sitting with Harry, no matter how much I want to. I stand, looking as his eyes follow my movements with intense fascination. I figure that must be it, his eyes seem to glitter when he in most intrigued with something. With a graceful step, I am beside him and lean close to his reddened ear and whisper, “I’ll see you when the sun next leaves footprints across the sky.”  
*****  
Draco’s POV – Wednesday Continued

 

I left Harry and paid for both of our meals. It was the decent thing to do; at least I hoped he thought of it that way. It is so easy to think this will become a normal routine, but I know that isn’t the case. I am glad we ran into one another though, just seeing Harry made me feel a little bit more upbeat, even if it meant I was just as confused as ever. 

He confuses me at every turn. His hand on my lower back, allowing me the honour of sitting before he did, and his playful retort about coming to find him – it is becoming maddening and it’s been two days! I have known people my whole life that have never gotten to me this way. And in two days, Harry Potter has been able to settle in my brain like a bloody parasite. I don’t want to think of him as a parasite, because I would like to think what we share at the moment, is healthy, rather than just my own needy insanity. I guess I feed off of him. He brings some small bit of happiness to my miserable days and I guess I can’t find fault in that. Surely no fault with Harry… 

I might be mistaking everything he does, but to me, his actions show invitation. If he removes the walls, I will gladly climb into his proffered garden of secrets, nurturing each of his little nuances and point out those little things that irritate me. Regulus told me I am ‘high maintenance’, but I ignored him. He was good about honesty, but it wasn’t always something I wanted, nor was I ready to hear. 

By the time I reach my building in Hogwarts Square, my thoughts for Harry have become silent, and the club owner has taken over. Tonight, there are two deliveries, one is alcohol and the other is the catering. Wednesday nights include light sandwiches and crisps for my customers as well as a talent showcase of locals and upcoming queens. 

Every Wednesday at Dragon’s Tail is amateur drag night. My two favourite queens are performing, which is funny, because they aren’t gay. They just like lots of attention and dressing up as women. Fred, George and I have carried on many conversations regarding their fascination with women’s fashion without the desire to be on top or underneath another man. It is always amusing to talk to those two. 

We’ve grown quite close over the years. I learned that their family owns a large toy company and that Fred and George are in research and development, their little sister markets and the rest of the family handles the higher end of the operation. There are two of the twins’ siblings that don’t work in the family business, they are Percy and Ron. Ron is a professional football player and Percy has political ambitions. No thanks. The only two openly gay members of the family are the two oldest siblings, Bill and Charlie. Both men have long, very beautiful flaming red hair. If I wasn’t so much of a coward, I would have explained my situation to one or both of them – but I can’t take rejection. The older Weasleys, Bill and Charlie still hit on me from time to time, and most likely will be in attendance of this evening’s events. 

When I first opened the club right after college, Fred and George were the first to mention an amateur night and it took off, thanks to their enthusiasm. I always let them perform. I can’t help it. They are just too comical not to allow on stage. They always pick the most interesting songs and routines and end up urging the crowd to drink, dance and enjoy themselves. I think tonight’s line up consists of Sirius, the twins and Dennis, or Daisy as he goes by on stage. Two of the four are very gay; Sirius, he is much like me, calm, collected and quite possibly arrogant. I enjoy watching these guys perform, because they are in their element, they do it as good, if not better than the professionals.

I am sure Harry will find a way to appreciate this evening’s events. If not, I will make sure to ask why not. It isn’t hard to enjoy a drag show, in fact, the queens do all the work at the crowd’s bidding. Sometimes, a lucky couple is invited on stage to enjoy the private treatments of the performers, which I have had the honour of once. 

Just as I pull up to my personal parking space, my phone starts ringing and for a moment, I hope it is Harry. To my dismay, when I flip open the little black mobile phone, I see a picture of Severus glaring. I wonder at times how he let me take this photo, maybe it was because he had so much to drink at the time. I press the send button and answer with the least irritated voice I can muster.

“Hello?”

“Dragon,” he says coldly. “How are things with Potter?”

“Well enough, Godfather,” I say snidely. I am glad he can’t see my face, because I honestly don’t want to tell him how things are really going.

“I’ve spoken to him already, and need I remind you that part of this job means he is to touch, kiss and fondle enough men to look like a man whore? Should I remind you that his success is in your hands, and I am sure he would dislike his pay jeopardized?” 

I frown; I feel my face fall. I don’t need to hear some lecture from Severus about anyone else’s success. He will not blame me for Potter’s inability to take some initiative. I understand the man isn’t gay, but that isn’t my fault. I am not willing to test my boundaries with the man who protects me, so I take the road less travelled as far as Malfoys go and humble myself.

“I will take care of it, sir,” I say, only mildly interested in the rest of this conversation.

“The following nights he spends with you, I expect him to kiss no less than four men. Every night! Is that clear? I want them all different – he won’t get a choice during the play or auditions and he needs to be ready for anything. I will be testing his prowess, so do make sure that you are thorough.”

I don’t like the way this conversation is going. I feel the need to sigh in resignation, but also irritation. If Harry is going to kiss anyone, it should be me. No one else deserves his lips before me, and I don’t think Severus understands how much I want him. Maybe that is why he has mentioned this… because he knows I have some attraction to the jewel-eyed demon? This isn’t fair. Goddamn you, Severus, for asking this of me. 

“I understand, Godfather,” I say, trying to hide my distaste.

“Good. I have already spoken with him and he understands his position. Do not anger me, boy.”

“I will do my best, sir,” I say and hear the line die. 

Does that man have any shred of decency? Can’t he at least say goodbye before he hangs up? I am so tired of him hanging up in my ear. No, let’s backtrack for a moment, I am tired of him telling me what I need to do – Harry can’t be forced to make his decisions, that is just asking for trouble. The man seems spirited. I’m just glad Severus delivered the news to him regarding kissing, I have a feeling if I would have been the bearer of this news, Harry wouldn’t have accepted it.

I just remembered something, it’s drag night, Harry should wear something in drag… he could at least blend in a little with the crowd. Since I am waiting on the delivery truck, I pick up my phone and find his name. He didn’t see, but I took a photo of him as the zombie. Before I press send, I look at those incredible eyes for a moment and allow the lines to connect. It rings twice and then I hear his voice.

”Potter,” he says with a bored tone.

“Phoenix,” I say silkily. My intent is to draw his attention from whatever he is doing. I want all of his attention.

“Dragon, hold on a moment. I’m in the middle of something,” he replies and covers the receivers end of his phone. In the background, I hear him talking to someone, catching little bits of the conversation. Yeah, I will be here tomorrow afternoon. No, I just need a refresher on some of the older material – what time is best? OK, 3:00p.m. See you then. His hand brushes the receiver again and I hear a door open and his breath echoes in the phone.

“So, what's going on?” he asks, and I hear a car door close. The engine purrs to life and loud music begins to blare. I have to pull the phone away from my ear to shield it from the intrusion on my aural senses. Slowly the music becomes only a slight distraction in the background and he sighs heavily. I want to ask what is on his mind, but decide it’s better to leave it alone.

“Two things. First, tonight, you need to dress in drag. And make it something… sexy,” I say and then hear him snort.

“What are you playing at, Draco?” he asks. I love hearing my name on his lips. I can picture him on top of me, panting it over and over again. I can’t even bring myself to be upset with his use of my given name, after all, it was agreed that he called me Dragon at the club – I never said my name was off limits on the phone. Now, hindsight being 20/20, I am glad I didn’t add that stipulation. Hearing my name twisted by his accent goes straight to my groin. I have only had once lover since I became Dragon and for his own safety, Regulus never knew my real name. 

“Nothing, tonight is…” I stop. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. “Look, just do this for me, OK? I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but you will feel more comfortable if you wear drag. I promise. Will you do it? Please?” I can’t believe I am practically begging him. This is not how things are supposed to be. He should be just doing as I ask…

“I will see what I can do,” he says, sounding perturbed, but there is nothing I can do. He honestly will be more comfortable in my opinion and I really want to see how he fares. 

“That is all I can hope for,” I reply. No sense in playing games, although I do hope he understands how much I want to see his choice in dress. If last night was any indication of his abilities to surprise me, I can hope for that kind of treatment for the rest of our lives. No matter what happens, I would still love to be close with him. A friend I daresay. 

“And what was the second thing?” he asks, and I hear a car door close and the noise from the street grows louder. He must be walking back to his apartment. I hear a man speak to him and Harry chuckles and voices a greeting. He is a friendly man it seems. I like that. I rarely greet people in my building, they are afraid of me and I like it that way. I don’t want to spend all my days socializing with people who are just like my father.

“I just received a call from your director. He informed me that you were to kiss no less than four men tonight. Says he doesn’t want me impeding your success. So, I was thinking, when you get here, we can go through and introduce you to a few people and explain your situation or, just see where the night takes us. What do you think?”

He is silent for a moment. I wish I could see him. I want to know what is going through that mind of his. Is he frustrated or is he embarrassed… I want to know. 

“That, we can figure out when I get there. Now I must see about something, sexy, as you put it. You really know how to give a bloke some notice. Why didn’t you mention it at dinner?”

“Honestly?” I ask, wanting to prolong this conversation.

“Yeah,” he says and I hear the elevator bell ding.

“I forgot.”

“Draco, dammit,” he says and I hear a door close. “Next time give me at least a four hour window, OK? Right now, I don’t have a lot to work with. At least if my ex was still here I could have borrowed something of hers. As it is I am going to have to ask one of the neighbours.”

“Well, I forgot. I’m sorry. I was slightly distracted at the time,” I say, hoping he understands what I mean. He sputters a little, trying to sound affronted, but it only sounds cute to me. 

“I’m sorry. I realise I might have been a little too intimate. It is habit, my ex and I used to go there together and for some reason…” he said, but stopped. “Look, I’ll see you at nine, OK?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

“Bye,” he says and I reciprocate his conversation ender. I smile. It feels nice to know that someone actually does have some decency, enough to formally end the conversation, rather than just close the phone on my ear like my godfather. I close my phone and think about what he’s just said. The way he trailed off is unsettling, his own reluctance to admit, comfort? He is such a walking contradiction, but I would have given anything to see the flush on his face. Well, I can only assume he was blushing, maybe one day I will ask him.

A large, white truck pulls up and I am grateful for the distraction. This lumpy white van is the first of two deliveries this evening: alcohol. After signing all of the appropriate paperwork, the driver brings the various boxes through the back door and I head to my office. On my way up, I run in to Cho and ask her if she will sign off on the catering for me and bring the invoice up later. For now, I need to get the line up for the evening together. Tonight, when people come in, just as they do every Wednesday, a box is at the desk for customers to place their choices for the next week’s performers. Every Sunday night before the club closes, I draw three names from the box. Those are the performers for Wednesday and the popular vote goes to perform with the professionals on Saturday night. It is a good deal really, the newbies get an opportunity to learn from the best and at the same time, I always have new clientele. Self-serving? Maybe a little.

I notice that the stage is set up and I stop to ask Lavender if everything is in order for tonight’s show and she smiles and nods. That girl is sweet. I wonder when she and Cho are going to stop playing games and just admit they like one another. I head to the office to wait.

I leave my office door open; I want to see the full effect of Phoenix’s efforts. I don’t want any obstacles, and the only way I can prevent them is to keep the door open. If I weren’t expecting the green-eyed demon, I would close it and allow myself the quiet of my sanctuary for a little while longer. 

*****

When nine o’clock rolls around, I am admittedly watching the clock, awaiting Harry’s arrival. And as if on cue, I hear footfalls on the stairs. I wait with bated breath, as I hear the click of thin heels tapping the floor in a steady rhythm. I keep my eyes trained on the door and when I see a dark figure, I can’t help but gasp in appreciation. Before me is a goddess, or god in disguise. A thin, sheer black cloth covers Harry’s lithe frame. He’s wearing a sexy black cocktail dress and it covers him beautifully, exposing his softly masculine features. As an added touch, the front is low, showing off the curves of his fake cleavage. Gods, he looks good. 

As my eyes travel the expanse of his body, I note the fishnet stockings and black stiletto heels. In surprise, I look up again, seeing a black wig, longer than his natural hair, and it's actually tamed. The bangs are short just above his brow and they bob around his soft face. Every strand seems to be in place and as I look closer, his cheeks are bronzed softly and his lids are outlined in black. His eye shadow is pale silver and his lips neatly brushed with a soft gloss, bringing out the natural cherry of his lips. He is stunning. His legs are muscular, but soft, so very edible. The more I see him, the more I wish I had the courage to throw him on the desk and wrap those wonderful stilts around my body. 

I see a soft blush rise on his cheeks and stand up, though I’m not sure if that was the best idea. My cock was throbbing harder than it had the night before with Harry pressed into my groin. Gods, he’s hot. 

“May I enter, Dragon?” Harry asks me silkily. His voice is lower than usual, almost like a husky female voice and for some reason the sound resonating goes straight to my already hard prick. 

“P-Please,” I say with as much grace as I can muster. I hope that he can’t see the outline of my cock through my black trousers. At this point, I am glad I decided to change clothes, because the khakis would have given me away. 

With the ease and stalk of a cat, Harry twists his hips and expertly clicks his heels on the floor. He makes long strides and finally stops in front of one of the leather chairs and I stand, just waiting. He has stolen my breath and I can’t believe I am admiring him dressed in drag. I have never been turned on by a queen before, but he isn’t a queen, is he? He’s just another man, who looks good no matter what he wears. 

When Harry sits, he crosses his legs fluidly and I see the tops of his stockings over the short dress. He’s beautiful. I had a feeling an all black ensemble would be fitting, now I have no doubt that Phoenix and I seemed to be on the same wavelength. 

“You can close your mouth and take a seat now,” Phoenix says. I barely register his words. I am too lost in the curves of his legs. It even looks like he’s shaved them and I would love nothing more than to run my hands along them… fuck. He’s incredible without trying.  
******

Draco’s POV – Wednesday Continued

 

I mumble something in response, and hastily take a seat. There is no saving my pride now. I have already become a bumbling idiot and he knows it. I wonder if this is all a part of his act, is he in character? Or is this really him? My mouth wasn’t really hanging open! I don’t believe that I am that shallow. 

“My apologies. You look… edible,” I say. I think it is a nice recovery, and by the smile on his face, he agrees. I can’t ignore the slight flush that rises on his cheeks. I hope that means that even in his embarrassment, he appreciates my assessment of him. 

“Thank you. Now, about this conversation with Severus, tell me, what are your plans with me?” The flush is fading now and I find myself wanting to see more.

“Honestly?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says. God, that accent is incredible. 

“Honestly, I think that I would like to offer my assistance. Whatever you chose to do after is up to you,” I lie. Yes, I did want to offer my assistance, but I wanted him to come to his own conclusions. I want to taste him, devour him. I don’t want to share him now that the fates seem to be pushing us closer together as time goes by. They keep on pushing us together – from the meeting today for dinner to the little bits of interference from Severus.

“You want to snog me?” he asks. I don’t know what the hell "snog" means. What is that?

“I don’t know what 'snog means, but yes, I want to kiss you,” I say. I can’t tell him a lie – then he might go about kissing every bloke in the club - even though I just did. I feel like a desperate child, he’s creeping into my mind and I hate feeling this overwhelmed. I know if I don’t control myself, I will only end up hurt or worse, hurting him. I don’t want that. He is more precious to me than my father, the man who sired me. There is something about this man that I can’t place, no matter how far I look. Everything is on the surface, and maybe the more superficial stuff I see, the deeper I want to go, both figuratively and literally.

“Then what are you waiting for?” he asks, and I feel my blood racing. I can’t tell if he is serious. His face is impassive as he sits comfortably with his legs crossed and his hands on the arms of the chair. 

I wait for a moment, and then slowly make my way towards him. He stands, meeting me face to face, as I arrive in front of him. For a moment, my breath hitches as I look into those deep, green eyes. I feel like they are pulling me in and I am drowning in their depths, only needing one moment of air to allow me enough oxygen to breathe for a lifetime. His skin is so smooth up close; there is no stubble, no pockmarks, no blemishes at all. How can one man be so perfect? 

My courage finally surfaces and I take him in my arms, placing the moist palms of my hands against his hips, drawing him closer. I feel him tense, but he complies, leaning forward and in the haze of desire, I press my lips against his, feeling them become slick with cherry-flavoured gloss. At first, he is restless and pecks my lips a few times, but then as my grip on him increases, he opens his mouth slowly and allows my tongue entrance. Like two children, we slowly explore one another’s mouths, taking in the soft scents and flavours that penetrate our senses. I feel like I am floating, and my erection presses against his body, only asking for more with the little needy jerks I make towards him. His tongue is a gift, filling my mouth and controlling me like a submissive animal. I am giddy with the sensations, allowing myself to fall deeply into the intensity of this moment. He growls and pulls away, and I feel like a blender without power. My head is spinning, all thoughts seem to become one; how much I want him. I am mush… I can’t think, even though I try. All I want is more of him. I didn’t care anymore that he could feel the strength of my need, and even though our lips are parted, our foreheads are pressed together as we breathe heavily. My hands are still on his hips and finally he pulls away. I don’t want him to pull away, and if the red in his cheeks says anything, he doesn’t either.

“Not bad, Phoenix,” I say, my breaths coming in heavy puffs. My hands are still on his hips, the blatant cues of my hormonal needs present. He pulls away from my hold and I miss his body pressed against mine already. 

He nods in response, but I can no longer read his face. He looks frightened, but of what, I don’t know. Then he does a beautiful pirouette and I am staring at his wonderful ass. With his back to me, he begins to speak softly.

“Dragon, what if, instead of really kissing three other blokes, I just peck them and practise on you. At least, that way I know…” he hesitates, “that I can’t pass anything on, regardless. I mean, you and I are in the same boat after all.”

My heart hitches. I know what he means, and I’m afraid I understand his reasoning all too well. He’s afraid that he will pass on the curse, and I can empathize with him. I want to take him in my arms and make him feel better about this, but his hesitance shows he’s at least trying to come to terms with everything. His words, the way he speaks, he must be new… he still sounds broken by the news, and my heart aches to comfort him. The only flaw in his statement is that unless he’s been confirmed to have the virus orally, then he has nothing to worry about. But, because I am selfish, I will not tell him the truth. Even if he knows the truth, I am sure he’s convincing himself that it’s better this way, not me. 

“I understand, and I’m fine with that – if you are,” I add. I want him to be comfortable, I want him to feel at home here and if he can’t feel that, then he has no place. Having no place is worse than being aware of your differences and accepting them. I feel the tension from Phoenix, and my heart aches a little more.

“Yes, please. I know you don’t owe me anything, but it would make it a lot easier,” he says, and I nod. He doesn’t see the nod, but I’m happy that he turns and smiles at me half-heartedly.

I offer my arm; he accepts with a soft grin on his face, and as we descend the stairs, I close the door to my office and lock it. Once in the main part of the club, Harry still holds me close, as if I am protecting him somehow. Which I don’t mind, maybe even strong men need to feel vulnerable at times. I totally understand his feelings. I too, felt the same way once – or at least, I can only guess I felt the same way at some point in time. Our emotions aren’t identical, but I am sure they are similar enough that he’s feeling quite alone at the moment.

I have to give the man credit. He is holding up quite well, considering his new circumstances. The pair of us saunter to the bar, and I help him onto one of the stools, and admire his crossed legs. Without a thought, I lean in and place my hands on his thighs, running them along the powerful expanse of muscle and whisper in his ear, “What would you like to drink, Phoenix?”

He shudders under my touch and I hope that is a good thing. I find the more he and I are together, the more amazed I am by his body, and all of the little secrets it holds. What I wouldn’t give to explore every dip and curve of his body, and even get to know him better. I am selfish, because in this setting, the odds are against me. I am a single man amidst a crowd of queens, and those who appreciate a man in drag. And as much as I appreciate Phoenix, men will still ogle his exquisite frame no matter if I am with him or not; that is just how it happens. 

“Anything,” he whispers back. His breath is hot against my neck and tickles my ear, sending soft, rolling tendrils of lust through my limbs. My erection is still very prominent. It seems that no matter what I do, I am stuck feeling like I will die a dehydrated death in a lonely desert. In the interest of parching my dry palate and calming my over-active nerves, I leave my hands on him and order us both a shot each, and something to enjoy slowly. He looks so comfortable, and I pray that it isn’t all an act. I want to think that even if he is an actor that when he is here, he is himself. 

We sit in a soft silence, enjoying the music as Lavender earns her stripes and eventually, after three or so drinks, I finally drag Phoenix to the dance floor. Even in stilettos, he has me on my toes as our bodies writhe against one and another. I don’t know how he does it; I spend most of my time in heels standing still, and flexing my knees for fear I am going to fall. As per tradition, every Saturday night, all men, unless given express permission, are to wear drag. Women can dress as men to give the full effect, but they don’t have to – Cho makes sure everyone is dressed appropriately before being allowed entry to the club. I know some of the little things seem extreme, but I like giving everyone something new to enjoy. 

The clock is ticking by and Harry stops as the song ends, holding my hands in his. The lights dim and I can only see the outline of his face in neon blue lights that reach him from the bar. With his jaw set, he trembles in my hands and before I know it, his hand is on the back of my neck and our lips are parting against one another once again. His tongue draws the outline of my bottom lip and I press against him. He tastes like caramel and crème and I want to see how many more flavours there are before it ends. Catcalls and whistles interrupt our moment and he pulls away, his face redder than his cherry lips. 

The lights come up again and the curtains on the stage start to open. A very tall, very large queen comes on stage in a purple, crushed velvet dress: Hagrid. Hagrid is my wonderful announcer and the largest queen I have ever seen. The man is as big around as a barrel and as tall as a giant is, but he’s hilarious. There is an area roped off for VIPs near the front of the stage, which has a set of steps on each side so my entertainment can interact with the crowd. There are two seats for Phoenix and I, so I lead us to them so that the show can get started. The spotlight fixates on the large man on stage, and with a big, friendly smile and lots of makeup, he bows. On Hagrid’s head, he has a long, curly blond wig, which is funny because his hair is a dark brown, almost black. 

“That’s Hagrid,” I tell Phoenix, leaning in close. As I breathe in, admiring his scent, I get a whiff of perfume that I didn’t smell before. Floral and soft, the scent teases me and I want to bury my face close. Hagrid clears his throat, and everyone looks at him, smiling. 

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Hagrid yells in his best female voice, which is strained, considering he is a very, very manly man. He is what they call a bear… very hairy. 

In response, the crowd goes wild and Hagrid’s gleaming teeth nearly blind us, but I holler with the rest of the crowd. Even Phoenix seems to have found his voice, which is like music to my ears. 

“Are you ready for a damn good show?” Hagrid yells. The crowd gets even louder and I inch closer to Phoenix. If he notices, he doesn’t show it, and I am content with that. 

“Welcome queens and kings, fags and hags, femmes and butches, and trannys with all the right touches! If you’re ready, let me hear you make some noise!”

The crowd continues to scream and I place a hand on Harry’s thigh. He turns to look at me with those glittering green eyes and smiles softly. He doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable, for which I am happy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two gleaming heads of red hair and turn to see Bill and Charlie sitting with two young men in drag. They look good with their respective dates, and I offer a nod of greeting. In return, they smile and lift their drinks. I notice both of them eyeing my partner. I give them the nastiest look I can muster; under the circumstances, I hope it reads "He is mine, so back the fuck off." The crowd is still loud, and Hagrid attempts to take control of the room again.

“All right, settle down, settle down. Tonight, the draw is Daisy, Ginger & Spice, and Sirius, our own lovable constellation! Sit back, relax and enjoy the show. You know how it works; at the end of the show, cast your vote, and the winner will prepare an encore, and also perform Saturday night at the main show. To get you started, Sirius is going to lead off! Put your hands together for the hottest queen since Tim Curry himself!”

The crowd roars to life again, and the spotlight fades. The curtains close briefly, and open as a short guitar riff starts, and a lean, tall man in a black leather corset and knickers with black stockings, heels and a string of white pearls around his neck appears. His face is deathly white with a deep berry-coloured lipstick and black eye shadow. 

How do you do   
I see you’ve met my faithful handyman   
He’s a little brought down…   
Because when you knocked   
He thought you were the candy man  
Don’t get freaky   
Don’t get strung out by the way I look   
Don’t judge a book by its cover  
I’m not much of a man by the light of day   
But by night, I’m one hell of a lover 

Sirius dances his heart out, shifting his hips in every direction, kicking his heels and laughing raucously when called for. He moves through the crowd and even places random kisses on cheeks and lips, leaving red faces and hungry eyes in his wake. Tips flow by the dozens from the crowd, and with a final swirl, he starts his ascent to the stage again.

So come up to the lab   
And see what’s on the slab   
I see you shiver with antici.....pation   
But maybe the rain is really to blame   
So I’ll remove the cause   
But not the symptom 

The lights fade as the curtains close, and Sirius is gone with a dramatic flourish. Many were yelling and screaming for more, but the music cued a slow, fifties style song, and as the curtain opens again, there stand Ginger and Spice. Ginger is wearing a golden-coloured wig with a burgundy stripe and his twin, Spice, is wearing a burgundy wig with a golden stripe. Their outfits match their personalities perfectly, both playful and sexy – these are new. 

The first thing I see is their beautiful, long legs teasing the crowd as they hide behind large, feathered, turquoise fans. Fishnet stockings meet with a garter belt at their slender thighs. Short, skirts with scrunched, crisscrossed fronts and tuxedo tails in the back, adorn their waists. The colours alternate between glittering white and a turquoise with glittering studs everywhere. Their tops are skin-tight vests, with one white panel and one turquoise panel. Three black buttons hold the thin material together around their ample, fake bosom. These two look "to die for" – it’s not fair! It is a shame that they aren’t gay; a romp with one, or both, would be a lot of fun. Underneath those wigs, those two have ginger-coloured hair that I could see my pale fingers wrapped in, but I am not that lucky. I feel like I am forced to always admire every beautiful man from afar. Phoenix, Fred and George, Bill, Charlie… 

The song starts slowly, and the feathers part to show the twins’ long lashes and expertly made up faces. With high cheekbones and strong jaws, they still display feminine softness and it’s captivating. Together they begin the song, which many of the crowd knows. Any Danny Kaye fan knows “Sisters, Sisters” from Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas”.

Sisters, sisters  
There were never such devoted sisters,   
Never had to have a chaperone, no sir,   
I’m there to keep my eye on her  
Caring, sharing  
Every little thing that we are wearing

As they continue, slowly they move apart and descend to the main floor. With winks, they grab Phoenix and I, pressing our bodies between theirs. My back is to Phoenix’s front as they begin the next line.

When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome  
She wore the dress, and I stayed home  
All kinds of weather, we stick together  
The same in the rain and sun  
Two different faces, but in tight places  
We think and we act as one

With a spin, they have Phoenix and I facing one another, and I reach out for him to keep my balance. How he was still moving like water in those heels, I will never know. But he moves solidly through the mess, and again, when the next part starts, we are in the previous position. Phoenix’s chest and groin press against my back, and I feel him growing excited. I can feel his length hardening, and I want to feel more. How I can go back and forth with my attentions, I will never know. Now that my attention is back on Harry – Phoenix - I am ready to devour him.

Those who’ve seen us   
Know that not a thing could come between us  
Many men have tried to split us up, but no one can  
Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister  
And Lord help the sister, who comes between me and my man

They finally release us from their hold, and Phoenix quickly rushes back to his seat, and with a red face, crosses his legs. I could see the intensity in his eyes, something just passed between us. Something that I don’t think he understands. His reaction is something that he is willing to hide for now, something that I am willing to chase after, because he continues to draw me into his web of charm. I wonder if he even knows that he is doing it… does he know that every time those eyelids close and open to reveal his glittering eyes, I get lost further in the idea of what he is? 

I allow him the time to deal with his embarrassment, and ignore it. I don’t even replace my hand on his thigh like before, because I don’t want him to freak out. Therefore, out of respect, I allow him peace. 

The lights aren’t down long. The curtains re-open silently in the darkness, and horns and guitars blared two long beats, and then a “Let’s go girls” echoes across the darkened club. The lights come up, and Dennis Creevy, brother of Colin from the support group, or Daisy as we call him here, stands on stage with his back to the crowd. He wears a tan cowboy hat with a wide brim and a quarter length shirt that falls open freely. His hand tips the hat forward and as soon as the lyrics start, he turns with a flash of ruffled denim skirt and bloomers. Cowboy boots rise to mid-calf and they are the same colour as his hat. 

When Daisy faces the crowd, he teases us by fully opening his top to reveal a bra-like piece of lingerie. It is black against all the denim and around his neck is a red, paisley kerchief. I half ignore the actual show, because, well, I don’t really care for Shania Twain, even if Daisy is doing a fair job at entertaining my crowd. A few times, he slips in his routine, but it seems to go unnoticed by the rest of the crowd. When the last line rings, the applause has already started. “Man! I feel like a Woman” ends and the curtain closes. Hagrid moves back on stage, and reminds everyone to cast his or her votes for the winner. A reminder of the winner giving an encore performance in one hour is announced, and as Phoenix and I make our may back to the bar, Bill and Charlie stop us.

“Hey, Dragon! Who is this?” Bill asks jovially. His eyes are alight with mischief, and his cheeks are light with the kind of glee I can’t understand. Maybe it’s just a Weasley thing, because Fred and George are the same way. They wear smiles like underwear – fashionably and frequently.

“This is Phoenix,” I say, looking at Harry.

“I’m Bill Weasley,” he says, extending his hand to Harry. “This is my brother, Charlie.”

I watch Harry for a moment, and for a split second, I see panic in his eyes, but he quickly recovers, and clasps Bill’s strong hand. He takes Charlie’s next and they each offer smiles, but even I can tell they are attempting to force Harry’s attentions away from me. 

Suddenly his arm tangles in mine, and he looks at me with those brilliant eyes and almost pleads with me to take him anywhere but in the middle of the club with these two. He holds me tight with flushing cheeks, and I just look at Bill and Charlie, and then speak with cordial admiration, “Fellas, as wonderful as it is to see you, Phoenix and I have a meeting. It’s good to see you, both. Give Fred and George my best.”

“Nice meeting you, Phoenix,” Bill says and takes Harry’s hand, kissing it gently. “Pity, I would like to get to know you better.”

“Aye, Phoenix. If you ever get tired of this guy, look us up, all right?” Charlie said, placing a soft kiss on the underside of Phoenix’s wrist. I feel a rage of jealousy consume me as I watch his eyes twinkle at the prospect of bedding my date. 

“All right, that’s enough wooing you two. See you later,” I say and drag Harry away.

We make it about two steps, when Bill takes Harry’s hand again and stops us. 

“Phoenix, do indulge me. Those lips of yours are beautiful. An offering of your pleasant fruit would be greatly appreciated,” he says, and Harry flushes wildly. 

He nods his head slowly and leans in to kiss the older of the two men. He pecks him gently and pulls away, and Charlie looks on quizzically and asks the same, only not nearly as poetically. Harry indulges both redheads, and I lead him to my office, practically carrying him. 

When we arrive, I give him a moment or two to collect himself. He looks like he needs it. The music continues without us and I can only wait for him to explain the problem. He’s pushing against the wall, both hands flush with the hard, dark surface, and breathing heavily. After about fifteen minutes of watching him from my office chair, I finally speak up.

“You all right?” I ask. 

He nods slowly, and then takes the seat across from me, the same as before.

“Thank you,” he says softly, no longer shaking and upset. I want to ask him what the problem is, but the more I watch his demeanour change, I see that he doesn’t want me to ask. His arms cross over his chest tightly and his legs cross in defiance. In fact, his whole image looks like a petulant child. If I didn’t know he was a twenty-five-year-old man, I would assume he is a pissed off girlfriend. 

“For what?”

“I needed to get away from them. It’s complicated, don’t ask, OK?” he says, trying to change the subject it seems. “Well, at least I kissed three blokes.”

The last statement is more to himself than me; at least, I think he’s trying to convince himself.

“I didn’t do anything, Phoenix,” I say.

“You did enough,” he replies softly. Dammit, I want to know what the problem is! I want to shake him, and make him tell me why he was so goddamn uncomfortable with Bill and Charlie. 

“Right, well, tell me something, how did you like your first kiss?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“It was…different,” he says, “I think I still need one more to make it slightly official for the evening, though. I mean, I could kiss you twice instead.”

I swear, this man is trying to kill me! He’s so shy and dominant at the same time! I feel like he's wrapping me around his little finger, twining me tighter and tighter, until the line stretches so taut, it will break!

“I am not averse to kissing you again, Phoenix. I quite enjoyed it,” I say, letting him know those lips and that tongue are the single most attractive muscles I have ever seen.

“Then why are you still over there?” he asks. 

With swift and very determined movements, I stride around my desk, and pull his hands from the arms of the chair. It doesn’t take much to lift him into my arms, and our lips are pressed together tightly in one of the most heated kisses I have ever felt. I don’t know if it is that he is out of reach, and that I want him so bad I can taste the desire dripping from my own tongue, or if he just holds so much power over people, me, that I am putty in his hands. This is pitiful. I am melting against his tongue, and it’s driving me insane. My cock hardens, and I feel his this time. With a moan, I pull him closer, and his sensory receptors betray him by sending a moan into the room to match mine. It’s fucking beautiful… I have never felt anything like this before. 

In the main club below, as our tongues battle and our erections press against one another, the twins’ encore begins. They are the only ones who could follow up with something so wild. I could stay like this forever, locked in his arms with no key, and then the song begins to wind down and I hear the last chorus erupt.

It's Raining Men! Hallelujah!  
It's Raining Men! Ame---------nnnn!   
I feel stormy weather / Moving in about to begin  
Hear the thunder / Don't you lose your head  
Rip off the roof and stay in bed

As the song ends, Phoenix pulls away with a soft smile and red cheeks, and kisses me once more on the cheek, saying goodnight softly in my ear. I can’t fucking believe it; I think I’m in love. He’s walking away, and I just want to run after him and pull him closer. My entire world is about to be flipped inside out, and I think, for once, I am OK with it. Gods help me, because that man does things to me that lovers who tried harder couldn’t achieve. Fuck! This isn’t supposed to happen this way!


	8. Emotional Crucifixion

Chapter 8: Emotional Crucifixion   
Harry’s POV – Thursday

 

I’ve been awake for nearly two hours, just lying in bed. I am replaying the last two days, trying to figure out what has gotten into me. How is it that I can play a part on stage, but I can’t even play the parts of my life? I am straight, yet last night I looked just like another drag queen. Hell, I felt just like another drag queen. Everyone was dancing, and humping like wild dogs in heat, and all I could do was submissively trail behind Dragon like his pet. What the hell is wrong with me? I am not that man! I am not the man that gets hard because his body presses against another man – I’m not a ponce! No, I just play one… It had to be the alcohol and my lack of sex. 

No matter how confused I seem to be, I can’t complain, because the more I think about my behaviour, the more I know that ‘Nat’ is no better. He is a submissive plaything. If I convinced Dragon, then maybe I can do this show after all. I wonder what other piece of madness he will impose on me tonight. It just seems to keep getting better and better. If I wasn’t being paid so much, I think I would tell Severus to kiss my arse. There has to be some balance. Professionally, I know this is what I have to do, but personally, I don’t know that I can. 

I feel safe here in bed. I don’t want to move, because moving only reminds my body that it needs food, or that I have desires. If I could hide here until Monday morning, I would. I can’t hide though, Severus has his spies, and for all I know, Dragon could be one too. This is not how I intended things to go, I didn’t expect to be at war with my own body. My mind screams that everything I am doing is against my better judgement, but here I sit, thinking about Dragon and how he makes me feel. How can I have such conflicting emotions? How can I even pretend that I didn’t feel something? I did, I felt real, like I have been hiding for far too long and it’s eating me up inside. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. It’s only been a few days since I met Dragon. It’s only been a few weeks since Ginny left – what am I doing? At first, I thought that I had some control, but now it seems like I don’t. 

I’m glad that I went by Hogwarts Martial Arts Academy and set up an appointment. I need to deal with some of my stress, and since I don’t exactly have sex at the moment, this is my only outlet. I don’t even know if my body could handle sex right now. Ever since I went to Pride County Health Centre, I have felt distant from my own skin, as if I didn’t belong inside the shell I was born in. Maybe that’s all I am right now, a numb shell, that thinks and feels, but can’t cope. Maybe I am just feeling the first real pangs of regret and loss. 

I feel like nothing matters anymore, except the way I feel when Dragon surrounds me. His lips were so deathly soft and inviting, I’ve never felt so secure and real as I did when his hands held me in place, coaxing the truth of my feelings from me. With soft whispers and gentle touches, he’s made me re-examine my whole world. I can’t think about this right now though, I have a meeting in half-an-hour and I don’t want to be late. 

After a quick shower, shave and toothbrushing, I rush to the car and drive towards my destination. My hours are starting to kill me. I am drinking more than I usually do because of being at the club every night and it’s starting to wear me thin. At least today I can work out some of my frustrations, because I don’t like feeling out of control. I feel like I’ve been shoved in the middle of a shepherd’s pie as garnish. 

I turn the radio up as loud as possible, drowning the insecurity and flawed reasoning. I can’t think of Draco – Dragon. I can’t think of him this way, because this is not what I want. I want Ginny back, but she won’t be back. I want a time machine, I want to be able to take back whatever I didn’t do for her that she felt the need to cheat on me with someone else and bring me this disease. I want to know why I couldn’t please her; I want to know why my child had to die. Hell, if I was so inclined, I would go back far enough to be with my parents again; at least the memory of them is something I cherish. Inside all of this madness, at least their memory is constant. 

Slowly all of the pieces connect, making me feel more frustrated than ever. Ginny left because she knew she was sick, I bet she was never pregnant to begin with. It had to have all been a lie that she crafted to trap me. But why would she need to trap me? I was in love with her. I loved that woman! All she could say was how sorry she was, and that doesn’t give me the answers that I need. As much as I don’t want to speak to her, I need to speak with her. However, I will wait for now. I don’t fancy a row over everything, but I think I will return Ron’s call, and ask if he knows when she’s coming back to town. 

Then to make matters worse, Bill and Charlie, her bloody brothers, were nearly ready to hump me in the middle of the dance floor last night! I can’t tell Dragon why I don’t want to be around them. I don’t think he would understand the complications around my separation from Ginny. Hell, I don’t even understand the complications surrounding our separation. I just know one day everything is peachy, we go about our regular routine of being another set of smiling faces in the world of charity events, and then the next day, as I am about to propose, she ups and leaves. She left the furniture, the dishes, everything that wasn’t something she attached to her body in some way. Although I did find a few pieces of clothing in the bin, but I don’t know why. No matter how cut and dried this whole scenario seems to be, there are still answers I need. As much as I loathe admitting it, I need closure. 

I feel like my head is going to explode. I can’t make up my mind. It’s either Ginny or Draco – one who wants nothing to do with me, and the other, the other is a man. I am so foolish. Draco’s lips were incredible, it was nothing like I had ever experienced with Ginny. Am I kidding myself? He kisses me as if I can offer him sustenance. It’s unsettling that a man can make me feel this way. He made me achingly hard without trying, and now I’m using emotion, not logic. I should be looking at this from the angle of being an actor, not from being some scorned straight man. There is nothing wrong with desire, and I shouldn’t be ashamed. However, I think a part of me is. I need to stop thinking; I just need to be for now. Thinking won’t bring the answers any closer. I let the music take me for now.

I hear your whispers  
Break the silence  
And it calms me down  
I taste on my lips  
Your salty kisses

In the safety of my car, I don’t need to be in control, except for my destination. I can be myself and not worry about consequences, unless I do something stupid. However, right now I can’t possibly fathom what could be dumber than even getting involved in Draco Malfoy’s life to begin with. I hope that once all of this is over, I can forget I ever went through this to begin with. Focussing on the scenery as I head to Hogwarts Martial Arts Academy is probably the best thing I can do. The sun is bright and there are a few clouds hanging above me – if it rains, I won’t have to get the car washed. The first signs of autumn are starting to come out of hiding. Leaves are changing slightly, and the winds are getting cooler. Day no longer spreads late into the evening; instead, each day the daylight retreats earlier and earlier. Flowers that line the sidewalks are starting to turn and die for the colder season, and I hope that the renewal of the seasons will give me a desperately needed re-birth. 

When I arrive at the dojo, I have to remind myself that I am not here to hurt my uke, and whatever happens outside of these walls, stays out here. The floor is no place for my frustrations; it is a way to tame them. Dudley and I came here as much for personal protection as we did for therapy. At least that is what it became for me over the years. I’ve always been a bit too impulsive for my own good. This is where we learned to shape our inner turmoil into something productive, but I have never been very good at it. I still let my anger take control, and that doesn’t do me any good at all. I end up hurting my partner, or storming off to cool down. Today will be different.

I am unpredictable, and in the dojo, that is dangerous. I feel like a raging teenager. I should have better control of my emotions than this. Maybe it’s the confusion that is driving me up the wall – maybe it’s the uncertainty that I like what Dragon does to me more than I want to admit. Maybe it’s the uncertainty that the way Ginny left has me questioning a lot of things, and I can’t accept knowing that some things aren’t what they always seem. At the moment, these thoughts aren’t important. The car park is mostly empty, so I slip into a space and grab my bag from the backseat. At least all my gear is still in good condition. 

I bow at the door and Alastor greets me as I walk passed to the changing rooms. His hair is gathered into a tight tail at the nape of his neck, and is a soft brown, riddled with grey. He is aging poorly. He’s already lost the sight in his left eye, and old war scars litter his face. I suppose the patch covering his eye is scarier to the youth than his scars. I remember when I was around eight years old; he lifted the patch to show me his white eye. It scared me to death and I never disobeyed a direct order again. He said to me, ‘Boy, you will learn quickly that when you act alone and selfishly, bad things happen.’ I have never understood that line, and for the moment, I don’t care. Once inside the changing rooms, I don my gi quickly and take my bag of sparring gear to the floor. Sensei Moody bows me in and I see who my uke is. At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, but that scruffy brown hair and podgy body tells me I am not hallucinating.

“Potter.”

“Dudley.”

I hope that the scorn isn’t present in my voice. I take a deep breath to remind myself that this is for me, and to abuse it would mean that Moody would take the privilege away. I would have thought he’d know better than to put my cousin and me together after breaking his nose all those years ago. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, attempting to sound interested despite my irritation.

“Had to do something. The League is going to dock my pay every time I come in more than three pounds over. I’m not losing my title.”

“Still have a healthy appetite, then,” I muse, beginning to stretch. This is an informal match. The only reason Alastor is here is to make sure we don’t kill each other. I won’t kill him, but my blood boils with glee when he says that his boxing league is going to fine him for weighing over a certain amount. I thought that only the theatre did that to the actors, or with football and soccer. Heavyweight would be heavyweight no matter what to me, but then again, I’m not a boxer. 

“Sod off, Potter,” Dudley says, sitting down on the floor.

“If you two can’t stretch without at least keeping your curses to yourself, then you can leave my floor,” Moody growls. Sensei doesn’t like when we curse, even if it is our native tongue. He knows, somehow he always knows. I wonder if the tone simply implies we are being rude to one another. 

“I thought that both of you had learnt your lessons by now! Fighting over petty things won’t make a lick of difference on this floor. You have to stay focussed,” Sensei preaches, making me feel like an eight-year-old boy again. “Finish stretching and get your gear on.”

Dudley and I go through our stretches; he seems a bit stiffer than usual, but it wasn’t going to change how I acted and reacted. At Hogwarts Academy, sparring is not full contact, but the two fighters dictate the intensity based on their mutual skill. While Dudley and I are truly mismatched, he is a vicious boxer and I have been training for a long time. In the end, I think we balance each other out, even if he is much larger by a few inches and over fifty pounds. My gloves still slide on like silk and it feels good to wear them. 

I forgo headgear. At this point, the only reason I should wear it is fear of getting an injury or for teaching. With gloves, Dudley can still cause damage, but I plan to dominate this match. 

Dudley and I square off in our stances, and I see that he actually adopts one that he was trained with here, and not the boxing ring. Ultimately, I will push him back, because that is what he knows. All well-trained martial artists learn ‘the dance’, a series of angles that one must use to avoid being trapped, and me, I am like a pouncing tiger – using tiger to movement or tree as much as possible. I like to head my enemy off before he can strike and as soon as we touch gloves, bow and wait for the words, I centre myself.

“Hajime!” Sensei Moody shouts, and the match begins. 

With a burst of speed, seeing Dudley shift his weight to the left, I attack his right, which he left wide open. A low blow to the floating ribs, just a tap to test the waters – I need to know how heavy this will get. He backs away with a heavy puff of air, and I advance, a round kick, sidekick and then a spinning hook kick, and I hear “Matte!” My heel landed in Dudley’s back, spot on, and I feel no remorse for the force behind it. 

Dudley and I stop. Our breathing is already heavy with adrenaline. My thoughts are coming in short bursts, and all I can think about is the first move I am going to make. In the middle of the floor, we take our stances and the command to begin is given again. 

Somewhere in my mind, I register that the doors to the dojo have just opened and I hear Alastor greeting someone, a man. 

“Good to see you again, Dragon.”

Dragon.

The delicate hold on control has snapped and my gloved fist connects with Dudley’s nose. I feel the cartilage give and then the sickly metallic scent of blood invades my nostrils. 

I stop, not because the blood or the impact frightens me, but because I am shocked at my lack of self-control. My thoughts had been pulled away from Dragon, and now, as if he knew I would be here, the man stands by the entrance with a bored expression. I spit out my mouthpiece and look at Dudley on the floor, clutching his face. The big lump is crying as if he was beaten near death, and my eyes travel from Alastor to Dragon, and then back to Dudley. 

I’m paralysed. My body won’t move, and I look at Dudley once more as Alastor leads him to the back for an icepack and to inspect the damage I have caused. Dragon’s cold eyes meet mine, and for a moment, my heart flutters with a strange comfort. He smiles slightly and I move from the floor to take a seat. Droplets of sweat cover my face, and in the mirrors, I can see the red twinge of blush and exertion. 

“Nice jab, Potter,” he says with a sneer.

“Oh yeah, perfect,” I reply snidely, moving towards the changing rooms. I hope he caught the sarcasm, because I am not in the mood for his playfulness. I just got him out of my head, and now, like a damn parasite, he is back. I think he’s done something to me. I am starting to get irritated at his ease with everything. Dragon’s face reflects nothing but stillness, and I wonder if that is what he is feeling. If anything, I need to apologise to my cousin. Dudley may be a lot of things, but he didn’t deserve punishment at my hands, not this time. 

“Potter! You bloody sod! Are you taking the piss?” Dudley yells as I walk by. His words are muffled and nasal from pinching the bridge of his nose, and having tissue stuffed in his nostrils. They are seeping crimson, and I suppress the shudder growing inside me. I never did like blood. If I stop, it shows I am the better man, but I feel Dragon closing in, and I don’t know if I want to be so close to him just now. In a way, I blame him for this.

“You bloody ignorant prick! I didn’t do it on purpose. If I wanted to hurt you, you would know. Don’t you remember our lessons together?” I spit. Seeing my cousin whining like a child makes me feel a strange sense of glee, even though I know it’s wrong. However, he’s such an easy target for my frustrations, and I can’t seem to hold my anger.

“That’s enough, both of you!” Moody says and points at me, “You will take care of whatever medical care he requires. If I ever see you lose control like that in my dojo again, Potter, you will never step foot through that door again. Is that understood?”

Shame fills me. “Yes, sir,” I reply, feeling the need to at least inquire to the extent of the injury. “Is it broken?”

“No. Lucky for you,” Moody states coldly. “Dudley, you are going to be sore tomorrow. I thought you learned your lesson about egging your cousin on by now. This is the second time I have mended your nose from one of his jabs.”

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” Dudley says. “He did it when that poncy bastard walked in.”

Dragon steps forward, and glares at Dudley with the most malicious gaze I’ve ever seen. “You, don’t blame me. I didn’t hit you, but I would be happy to oblige.”

I turn to the blond, his face is red with anger or embarrassment, I’m not sure which. “Look, just drop it, yeah? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I happen to take lessons here with Mr Moody,” Dragon says. “But I see that he is otherwise busy, and will reschedule my appointment.”

“What, why?” I ask. I am not sure why I cared.

“He’s a bit busy right now and we’ve already wasted nearly fifteen minutes of our session. Mr Moody, I will call you later this week,” Dragon says, and starts to leave. I watch him walk away, but he turns and looks at me with those beautiful grey eyes and smiles. “You want to grab some dinner?”

Wait, what?

“Er?”

“It’s a simple question,” he says.

“I guess,” I shrug. 

“Are you always this articulate or just when I am around?” he snips.

“Time and place?” I grind out.

“Aberforth’s Alcove, six-thirty.”

“Done.”

“See you then, Potter.”

Why am I once again reduced to a snivelling mess? This is driving me nuts and then the song on the radio repeats in my mind. 

I hear your whispers  
Break the silence  
And it calms me down  
I taste on my lips  
Your salty kisses

This is going to be a long night, I can tell already. The Gods must have it in for me, because I can’t seem to get away from this man no matter what I do.   
*****

Harry’s POV – Thursday Continued

 

After checking on Dudley’s health once again, I go home and shower. I should at least look presentable. Aberforth’s Alcove is the premiere restaurant in the city and I don’t plan on going without looking good. Regardless of anyone else’s opinion, I find I want Dragon to approve of me. The moment I realize that Dragon is my reason for looking my best, I berate myself. His opinion really doesn’t matter, and I can’t allow his approval, or lack thereof, to determine my actions. I am my own man, no matter how lost I feel right now. 

As I dry my hair, I turn on the bedroom telly and let the news echo throughout before getting ready. 

Rita Skeeter reporting from Scottsland county jail… the North Carolina senator was stopped earlier today for erratic driving through the city streets. After running two red lights and a stop sign, he finally stopped for the police. Senator… charged with driving while under the influence of a mind-altering substance and being in possession of narcotics. A… field test indicated the white powder under his seat was indeed cocaine… sources say. Earlier today, the senator’s spokesman released a quick statement, but there has been no news of whether the senator will be released from custody or not. We will keep you up to date as new information becomes available. This is Rita Skeeter reporting live, back to you in the studio, Cornelius.

“Stupid politicians. He’ll get off.” I glare at the screen and switch off the news. I don’t want to hear about corrupt politicians and their troubles. They always end up with a slap on the wrist and no real punishment. If his license is taken away, he will just be given a driver, paid by the state. So not only does he get free transportation, but a ‘get out of jail, free’ card like in Monopoly.

After switching off the telly, I dress in a pair of black wool trousers and a v-neck jumper that is charcoal grey. I usually don’t dance much at the club and I have a feeling I won’t need anything but my oxfords, so I tie the laces and grab my favourite coat, a double-breasted leather beast that always makes me look and feel good. For some reason, I think that the extra layers are going to be needed tonight, even though the days have been so warm this late in the year. 

By the time I leave my flat, it’s already a quarter past six. It will take me no less than twenty minutes to arrive at Aberforth’s Alcove. Great, now I am late. I am sure I will never hear the end of it. Decisions, decisions. Do I call Dragon and explain my tardiness, or just arrive with a flourish befitting my profession? In the garage, I am still debating the strange turn of events as I get in the car, and true to its disagreeable nature, the engine barely turns. 

“Come on!”

I stop and take a breath, trying to not to be too upset with my car and failing miserably. I don’t want to tell Dragon that I am having car troubles; he’s got money, he won’t understand my irritation. Without another thought, I snatch my mobile from the passenger seat and send him a text message, praying that he accepts them. I type the words quickly, Running a little late. Order for me, yeah?

I push the gear stick quickly and drive out of the garage onto Parkwood Court. Aberforth’s Alcove is fairly close to the city centre, I just hope traffic isn’t bad. As I am rushing down East Hogwarts Drive, my mobile chimes and I chance a quick glance at his reply. Sure thing, my pretty bird. Cheeky bastard, I think, but can’t help smiling. For some reason, his cheek doesn’t smart the way Severus’ does, and I like it. A thrill of excitement thrums through me and instead of rushing to my destination, I leisurely allow myself the feeling and bask in the sin of it. I am excited to see him again and I can’t explain why. At this moment, I don’t care.

Ten minutes of smooth streets and regular traffic conditions, I am pulling to the front of Aberforth’s Alcove. The valet waits with a burgundy and gold uniform and a small, round hat with a gold tassel. Like at The Dragon’s Tail, there is a red carpet that leads up to the large circular building.

As far as restaurants are concerned, this is the restaurant. If you can’t tell you need money to dine here just from the décor, you’re blind. The Coliseum-style building sports mirrored glass windows from pavement to roof. The roof itself is a work of bloody art. It’s a tall golden dome with a large spire. In fact, the more I look at it, the tip reminds me of St Isaac’s Cathedral in St Petersburg. 

“Here you are, sir,” the valet says and hands me a tag with my key number.

I walk the walk, keeping my shoulders tight and my chin stiff in the air. If anything, this is the only attitude that is expected within these walls. I have never actually been inside before, but I have heard stories from Severus and even Ginny. It seems that Weasley Works likes to woo new companies into their proverbial bed with lavish meals and undeliverable promises. The front entrance has a revolving door with frosted glass and gold frames, and it leads into the lounge area of the restaurant. Once inside the automatically rotating door, I step out and all of the wonderful aromas that my brain can possibly handle assault me. The mixture of fine perfumes of the patrons, well-buttered breads and rich cheeses, all come together in a rich blend of food and lust. 

To my left and right just inside the entrance, there are lounge areas and a small dance area. Chaise lounges and settees line the curve of the building, and in the centre, a lectern with a greeter. A young woman with fine, dark-brown hair smiles at me and welcomes me.

“Reservations, sir?”

“Yes, I am meeting Dragon,” I reply, looking around. On each side of the lectern are two large plants that hide the main restaurant from everyone’s view. Soft music filters through the building and I start to tap my toe as she looks through the book in front of her.

“Ah, yes, right this way, sir,” she says and motions me forward. One of the waiters leads me past the lectern, and I take in the breathtaking sights. The main restaurant is arranged in a circle, with three total levels that telescope downward. On the first level, six barriers create a false wall between those dining and those at the bar, dancing or visiting the loo. The stairs I am currently walking down has a twin on the opposite side of the room, while two others ‘V’ from the small curtained off area in the very middle. There are only about five steps between each level and I look to my right as I follow the waiter, noticing that there are two tables per tier, and a lightning bolt-shaped screen that separates the parties from one another. The second tier is the exact same, only smaller, and then we reach the smallest point where a circular, crushed velvet partition is slightly parted, indicating there is someone waiting inside. 

I look at my watch and see ten minutes to seven, grateful that I wasn’t later than that. The waiter stops and pulls the curtain aside further, bowed slightly from the waist with his left arm crossed in front of his body, urging me inside. The area curtained off is large enough for at least six tables, but there is only one, and one man with silver-blond hair sitting haughtily in one of the golden chairs. I don’t even notice when the waiter leaves; I’m too engrossed staring at the blond.

There is a large glass of white wine on the table waiting for me and it looks freshly poured by the frosting of the glass. I must say I am impressed with Dragon’s choice of attire; he looks like a billboard model with his white linen shirt partially unbuttoned, showing off his sinewy chest. His face is slightly hard, but it softens as he stands to welcome me, and I see that the shirt has long sleeves and rides just above his hips. His trousers, probably some soft, exquisite cotton sewn by a tailor just for him, has pleats and hugs his groin tightly. He looks good. I gulp at the sight before me and smile, I can’t help it. He motions me to sit and in a reversal of roles, he allows me to sit first this time.

“So you made it,” he states, his voice warm and full of something I don’t understand.

“Yeah, sorry about being late,” I reply, still not willing to admit my car is a piece of shit.

“I ordered for you. I hope you like duck.” He preens. I never noticed before, but his skin is pale like alabaster, and the way he’s sitting he looks like he should be immortalised in a sculpture for future generations to admire. 

“Yes, thank you,” I say, taking a sip of the wine. It’s dry, but not so much so that my lips pucker. 

“You are full of surprises, Potter. Who was that lump you sparred with earlier?” Dragon asks, leaning forward to take his own glass of wine. Unlike me, he holds the very thin stemmed goblet by the stem, swirling its contents and inhaling heavily before taking a sip.

“My cousin, Dudley,” I reply coldly. I feel the irritation at this whole situation return, the very reason I went to the dojo to begin with.

“What’s that about you breaking his nose? Are you violent? Should I be afraid of you?” he asks playfully.

“No, he’s a bully – a boxer now. When we were little, he used to torment me and I put a stop to it,” I say with a shrug. It’s true; at sixteen, I needed to prove to that bastard cousin of mine that there was no point in fighting with me. I will win. “When we moved to America, Uncle Vernon insisted that we learn how to protect ourselves from Americans. ‘They are savages’ he always said.” I know my words sound stupid; I can feel the horrible ignorance and simple-mindedness of the words.

Dragon’s face nearly explodes as he tries to stifle the snigger welling inside. His face reddens slightly, looking completely out of place for his pale complexion. 

“Savages? That’s a new one. So, Potter, how savage are Americans?” Dragon asks in a low tone. 

“Barbaric. I can hardly stand to live amongst you heathens!” I declare dramatically, eliciting a real laugh from the blond, and it warms my heart. I am generally stoic, not witty, but by the look on his face, I have told the best joke he’s ever heard. 

“Seriously? People are people and I was only four when we moved here. I suspect that, as with every other country, there are good and bad people. I have met my fair share of both, but the majority have been good people. I honestly try not to think about it too much, I haven’t been to ‘my’ country in nearly twenty-two years. No love lost really.”

“How can you say that?” asks Dragon, holding my gaze carefully, seemingly gripped.

“Because I didn’t grow up there. I attended school here, I graduated from college here and I think the only reason I still have an accent is I grew up with a British family. I mean, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia still made us use the Queen’s English.”

“What do you mean?” he ripostes, sipping from his goblet. I can barely tear my eyes away as his soft, pink tongue darts about his lips, lapping at the alcohol that remains behind. I remember our kiss and think about how much I really liked it. How, at the time, I felt unhinged, but my body was on fire. He did that, it was all him, and as I think about it, I want it again. I don’t want it just because I have to do it, I want it because I enjoyed it. 

“Here you spell words one way, in Britain they spell them another.”

“Indeed? Give me an example,” he inquires.

“Colour in the Queen’s English is spelled c-o-l-o-u-r, not c-o-l-o-r.”

“I see. Makes sense, though I can see that causing problems with your schooling.”

“Precisely,” I answer. Dragon’s face is beginning to flush slightly and I wonder for the first time why he was at Hogwarts Academy today. “Er, Dragon, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he counters, seeming ready to answer anything.

“Why were you at Hogwarts Academy today?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy enough. I used to study Tai Chi with Mr Moody. Haven’t been in years, but it always helped me relax, so I set up an appointment and now here we are.”

“So we could have run into one another earlier,” I say, not really to him, but he hums a response anyway. It is then that the curtain lifts and I smell the most sumptuous aroma to ever invade my nostrils. Sweet basil, oregano, black pepper, olive oil and a myriad of other spices lick at my taste buds. I feel like they are caressing my tongue and wish that it was Dragon’s tongue. With a quick shake of my head, I try to dismiss these thoughts. I’m not gay, I’m only kissing him for my job, not because I want to. 

“Pity,” Dragon retorts with a smile. He almost looks sad, but I don’t want to ask what’s on his mind. 

We tuck in to dinner, and I love the explosions of flavour as they hit my tongue. Everything is wonderful, so wonderful, in fact, that Dragon and I sit in an amicable silence enjoying the meal. The waiter interrupts us once or twice as he fills our glasses to the brim with the lovely wine, and my blond-haired companion continues to flush. It actually looks quite fetching on him, but I am sure he wouldn’t like to hear me say that. 

The meal is very much worth all the bravado, because each dish is better than the last, mingling with the flavours of the previous to make the mouth orgasm with glee. 

“Tell me something, Potter. How do you feel about all this so far? I mean, you are obviously very straight, so why accept a role in a homosexual play and put yourself through all this? There has to be a good reason,” Dragon asks, his face painted with a curious smirk.

“About a million,” I say low, and hear him roar with a spine-tingling laugh. 

“Seriously?” he asks, looking at me wide-eyed and still smirking.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that, but yeah. I am getting good pay and I really need it. My trust is almost gone because of that damn flat,” I say bitterly.

“This is all over a flat? Why don’t you just move?”

“I like it there,” I say softly, wondering if I am convincing him or myself.

“Ah yeah, I can see that. Ex-girlfriend leaves you not only with the flat, but other burdens as well. Please don’t tell me it’s like a shrine to what once was,” he scoffs. I want to yell at him and tell him he doesn’t know anything, but how wrong is he? I know that I hold a flame for Ginny still, even if only fleeting. I… I am not fair about this, maybe I need to think harder about what really matters. I know she isn’t coming back, no matter how much I wish it. Her voice is still very clear in my mind and I want to scrub my brain, flatten the sulci and cauterise my temporal lobe, then maybe I can forget. For now I am forced to remember, even with Dragon here; so far from my own world, he can see the bitter longing. I feel too vulnerable, and by the look on his face, he can sense it too.

“I’m not daft, she doesn’t deserve a shrine, but I miss her,” I admit, feeling a little better.

“That’s more like it,” he says and smiles. It is a real smile; with him it’s so easy to tell if his smile is real. If the corners of his eyes squish together as the muscles strain, it’s real. Otherwise he’s playing a game, and he looks as though he’s quite adept at those.

“I must sound like a complete prat,” I say, honestly hoping he doesn’t answer, but he does.

“Hello! American, what the hell does ‘prat’ mean?”

“Oh, right, fool, basically,” I reply, wondering if he will prod further.

“Why can’t you just say fool?”

“Er, you don’t grow out of words just because you live somewhere new.”

“Forgive me, we Americans are so ignorant,” he snorts. I wonder why he’s back to the cold demeanour when he smiles softly at me. “I don’t mean anything by it. Most of my life I have had to be sarcastic to survive. It’s a defence mechanism, don’t take it personal.”

“It’s all right. Besides, we call that cheek,” I say and return his smile. His eyebrows lift with curiosity.

“All right, tell me this; what’s it like kissing a man?”

The moment he asks the question, I am in the middle of gulping down a large bit of wine and have to try desperately not to sputter, creating a mess everywhere. 

“Don’t you know already?” I ask, feeling very hot suddenly.

“I do, but not in the words of a straight man,” he says triumphantly. I don’t like the expression on his face, it reeks of satisfaction that I can’t pinpoint.

“It’s different,” I say, trying to avoid sounding like a fool.

“How?” he asks, and then he holds up his hand and I see him fumble under the table for a moment. His hand comes up and I see his cell phone. He grumbles something; I can’t make it out and he answers the call. I watch him carefully as he speaks to the person on the other end of the line, and for the briefest of moments, I see a look of fear… sadness? I can’t place exactly what I saw in that moment, but in a flash, it is gone. 

“Yes, thank you,” he says and hangs up. Pushing his phone back into his pocket, he stands and looks at me. “I have to go. The meal is already covered, so I will see you at the entrance of the club at nine, OK?”

“Wait, is everything all right?” I ask, but he leaves without looking back and I sit wondering what the hell just happened.  
*****

Harry’s POV – Thursday Continued

 

Moments after Dragon leaves, the waiter comes in and asks if I would like anything else. I decline because it’s nearly nine o’clock anyway, and if I am going to get to the club without possibly dealing with cheek, I need to get a move on. I am a little confused about what just happened, but the waiter walks me out after taking my valet ticket, and comes to get me when my car is waiting by the door. I exit the frosted revolving door, and head across town to the club. 

Time seems to slow down, as I think about the brief glimpse of something angry, feral, and possibly sad behind Dragon’s mask. I can’t place it, but maybe the closest thing I can equate it to is contempt? I almost wonder how one phone call can bring about that kind of reaction, but then I remember my own similar phone call recently. After the heartbreak, contempt settled in my bones and still sits there dancing with all of the bewilderment and resentment. This whole situation continues to add to my confusion, because on some level, even after this is over, I can see myself as a friend to Dragon. 

My thoughts carry me all the way to the club, and with an empty car park, I take my pick of spaces available and head inside. The pretty Asian girl just waves me by without looking up; I guess if I were someone that didn’t belong, the two thugs by the door would make sure she knows immediately. As soon as I step inside, Dragon is waiting for me with him arms crossed and his brow furrowed in thought. He looks a lot different than he did at the restaurant. His face is no longer flushed with joviality, but rather looks worn and stressed. Whatever the phone call he received at the restaurant was, its severity is showing in his features. 

“Ready?” he asks, his voice lacking any true enthusiasm. Something about him seems off, and I can’t place it. I have the urge to ask what the problem is, but decide that stifling the compulsion might serve me better.

“Sure,” I reply, wondering what his plan for this evening is. Judging by his demeanour, he doesn’t look up to much. With haughty strides, Dragon is at the door, and moving past the guard before I can ask what is going on. I want to know what happened between that phone call and now, but it isn’t my place to question him. Hell, I barely know the man, but I can see he is distressed and beyond borders, and supposed boundaries, I want to help him.

“What are we doing?” I ask as he disappears.

The door is just beginning to close, so I make my steps more deliberate and attempt to catch up with Dragon. As I descend the stairs, I notice the well is slowly becoming an inky-black. The metal door closes behind me with an audible clank, and now in this muddy darkness, I continue to follow in Dragon’s wake. My shoes barely make a sound against the mock stone floors. I use one hand on the wall to guide my progress to the dungeon and finally I see a sliver of light at the bottom of the landing. It is very soft, but I can make out the depth of the room so I am not too afraid. 

“Showing you the dungeon,” Draco says as his shoes hit the stones. 

I am moving slow because three people stand waiting for me, Dragon being one of them. I can see his hair more than anything else in the dimly lit room. There is a woman with a latex mini dress, what looks to be knee high boots with laces across the shins and five-inch heels, and elbow-length latex gloves. Bushy brown hair sits atop her head. It’s pulled tight, but a few tendrils have escaped. At her feet is a man revering her legs, his hands clawing at her roughly for any scrap of attention she will offer. Her expression says nothing beyond possible boredom, and slowly she pets the man’s head, full of brown locks, with slow, practised fingers. I swear I can hear a soft whimper as her hand leaves his head, and she grabs his arm, yanking him to his feet. Now that he is standing, I notice that he’s not wearing anything but a pair of shiny latex shorts and a collar. I note that he looks older than the woman, when I finally get to see his face. His eyes are dark, and he’s not well-built, just skinny.

“Quirrell, love, go prepare the cross, and then come back,” she says, and he bows his head low in submission. I see – Dragon wants to show me submission – I wonder if he knows more than he lets on. Severus may have told him about the play, at least that is the only thing I can think of.

“Yes, Mistress,” the man says, and scurries behind a large, black curtain. I only briefly see behind the fabric before it snaps back into place, but I notice Dragon moving and watch him carefully. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling more than a little flustered. I have never experienced this before, and now I’m afraid. 

“It’s OK, Phoenix, just a demonstration,” he assures me. 

“Phoenix, what a lovely name. You aren’t frightened by any of this, are you?” the dominatrix asks. When I turn to look at her, I notice another man sitting on a large sofa, and look at him. His is tall with pale skin and dark hair. He looks to be about thirty, but I can’t be sure. His dark brown hair is pulled back tightly against the nape of his neck, and he is wearing a long, black skirt over platform boots. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and strong, washboard abs emboss his body. There is a tattoo of a snake across his left pectoral and both nipples are pierced with very large, silver rings. The small, light brown nipples sag with the weight of the adornment. 

“No, just never seen it before, is all,” I reply, and the man smiles toothily.

“Phoenix, this is Mistress Daphne, she is going to oversee this evening,” Dragon says in the same monotonous drawl as he used upstairs. I can tell something is wrong with him, but why it affects me, I can’t explain. I don’t like seeing him this way, seemingly without life or enthusiasm. 

I nod my head at Mistress Daphne. 

“Have no fear, pretty bird, we aim to please,” the man seated says and stands, looking to me with his hand extended. “I’m Master Crouch.” What the hell is up with being called pretty bird tonight? Dragon called me that in the text and now this man is calling me the same…

“I’m Phoenix,” I say, even though it feels odd to call myself such. I take his hand, but only to please his employer. I have no reason to truly need acceptance since I don’t see myself returning here in the future. The curtain opens as Master Crouch releases my hand, and the pet named Quirrell stands with a bowed head before his mistress. 

“Everything is ready, Mistress,” he coos. Her hand comes to rest on the top of his head, and like a cat, he stretches to retain the contact as long as possible.

“Ready?” asks Dragon, looking at me. I nod and he pulls the curtain aside, leading me, the Mistress and Quirrell through. 

Black, rough-hewn walls are the first thing I see upon entering the room. There are torch-like light fixtures on the walls, casting dim shadows around the open room. I see a cell on my left at the far end of the room, and a larger room with silver lettering on the door that reads ‘Private’. There are two more rooms on the right, and then my sight settles on the open space.

In the centre of the room, there is what looks like an iron stock block. There is a long, red, vinyl bench jutting from behind the neck and wrist-holes, and behind it, a bench that reminds me of a sawhorse. That particular piece of furniture also has a red, vinyl pad and leg rests on the sides. It looks like an interesting contraption. In the farthest left corner of the room is a large cabinet that fits into the corner perfectly. There is a long, low cage on the floor between the cell and cabinet, and it looks like it is used for animals. On the right side of the cabinet, there is a taller cage with chains dangling from the closed top. I don’t ask anything about what we are doing, because I am not in charge here.

“This way,” Dragon says, and leads the group to the private room on the left side of the dungeon. As I approach the door, I notice that the portal isn’t rectangular, but arches at the top. There are soft engravings on the face of the wood, but in this light, I can’t make out the small carvings. 

Dragon opens the door, and allows everyone to enter before him. Once inside the room, I see that the lighting is a little bit better in here. The same torch-like fixtures are attached to the walls, but are brighter than the main room. I guess they are electric – it doesn’t matter if they are – because as long as I can see, I am happy. 

The room is long and full of odd things – things I have never seen before – but I’m sure they belong in this setting. The wall braces a large ‘X’ shaped construct, with straps wrapped around the thick, grainy wood. Everything is dark, almost sinister looking, but I find it interesting more than anything else in the room. There are two chairs, I assume one for Dragon and myself, because Mistress Daphne takes her pet to the construct, and binds his wrists to the crossed planks. 

“Good boy, Quirrell. Are you going to give Phoenix a good show?” Mistress Daphne asks her slave. 

“Yes, Mistress!” he calls with an erotic timbre. It’s a desperate plea of acknowledgement, and she rewards him with a brief kiss on the cheek. 

“Have a seat, Phoenix,” Dragon says, and takes his own. He waits for me to sit, just like at the restaurant, and then takes his chair. 

Mistress Daphne goes through warming her slave up; she picks up a whip from a table I hadn’t noticed at first, and begins to chastise his back with it. The sounds that echo into the room seem almost painful, but he moans with what looks like ecstasy. I can’t see his face, but the way he arches his back and then throws his neck back are all I need to see he’s enjoying himself immensely. Another few lashes, but I am not listening to their dialogue. I am watching Dragon out of the corner of my eye. His posture is stiff and his legs are crossed. When the slave cries out again, I turn to look at Dragon, almost wondering if he’s finding any enjoyment in the display. 

He looks lost, but turns to look at me with those fierce eyes, and I turn away in embarrassment. I watch the scene before me, continuing to ignore the dialogue between the Mistress and her slave, when I hear a loud crack and he screams, “Red!”

I sit up, trying to understand what’s going on, and Dragon looks at me before turning back to the pair before us. The dominatrix soothes her pet, and I hear him whimper about the whip being too much. I don’t really care, I just know that I want to know what’s bothering Dragon. 

Daphne walks away for a moment, and comes back with a large feather, trailing it along her pet’s reddened flesh. He coos softly at her touch, craning his neck to get a look at her. They whisper for a few moments, and Daphne walks away with a deep smile on her face. “Dragon,” she says, “he’s ready for you.”

Confused, I look at Dragon as he stands, and moves towards Daphne. In her outstretched hand is a riding crop, and she hands it to Dragon. He takes the small whip and caresses the bat of it with an enthusiastic grin. Slowly he trails the leather down Quirrell’s back, whispering to the restrained pet. He backs away, and brings the slender whip heavily against his slave. With a caustic, intense scream, Quirrell arches back and moans heavily as Dragon repeats the movement. He whips the slave a few more times until he stops, and looks at Daphne. “This isn’t working,” he says melancholically, and places the crop on the table. He remains still as Quirrell squirms against his bonds, and waits for his next instructions. 

“I need more,” states Dragon coldly. 

“Then strip!” she says forcefully. Her eyes have a feral glint, and I wonder why the sudden change in both of their attitudes.

Making his way to Quirrell, Dragon reaches up and unbuckles the black, leather cuffs on the slave’s wrists. “You did well,” Dragon assures the slave, “thank you.” 

Now that Quirrell is free of his bonds, Dragon moves towards his chair. He slowly unbuttons his shirt as his eyes lock on me. I can’t help but return the intense gaze as it hammers into the depth of my soul. I don’t know if it the obvious pain he is feeling, or if I am just being foolish. When his shirt is completely open, he begins to remove his shoes and socks first, then his belt, and trousers. His deliberate movements and soft, pale skin transfix my attention. The blond’s abs are softly embossed, six of them staring back at me. There is no hair on his chest, or any marks to mar his beautiful skin. Beautiful is the only word I can use to describe the condition of his flesh, because it seems to glow like the pale moonlight that covers this city every night. 

He takes off his shirt, and folds it neatly, placing it on the chair. Next he folds his trousers neatly, placing them on the chair, and moves towards the large ‘X’. His hipbones protrude over the elastic band of his low-rider, black boxer briefs, but there is no mistaking he is fit. His legs are muscular and carry him with grace. There is barely any visible hair on his body, not even a trail towards his groin, and I envy him. Even I have plenty of dark, black hair leading from my bellybutton, and lower. As he walks towards the thick, wooden construct, I see his sculpted back, but my eyes land on a long, thick, silver scar that reaches from his right shoulder to the opposite hip. The sharp intake of breath I make seems to go unnoticed by him, but I can’t help wondering where he procured such a disfigurement. Other than the scar, his body is nearly perfect.

I try to think about all of the possibilities for such a scar – a car wreck, a beating, a fall – but none of them seems to fit the pattern of the marks. I can’t get any closer to him without giving away my intentions to view his mark. The last thing I want is for him to assume I am mocking his pain, because I am not. I wonder what kind of insanity could cause such a horrible wound. It doesn’t seem to bother him, but he must know it’s there, he must remember it. 

Dragon stops in front of Daphne, and lowers his head in submission. She leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he nods his approval as she reaches for a set of chains I didn’t see dangling from the ceiling. She wraps the lined cuffs around his wrists, securing them for use, and turns his back to us. Quirrell is now standing close to his Mistress, waiting for his next job, which I am sure has to do with Dragon. He’s still acting very submissive, though I can see the hint of shame in his small, beady eyes. 

Did he displease his Mistress? 

Dragon was totally submissive in this woman’s care. His head was bowed low, like a shamed child. She pushed his body against the crossed planks, and let him grip the top; in fact, she demanded that he grip the top. 

“Warburton wheel, Quirrell,” Daphne demands of her slave, and holds out her hand. 

“Yes, Mistress!” he replies enthusiastically.

Quirrell scurries to the table, and retrieves the implement, placing it in her hand. She does not pet him, or thank him as he moves back to his position. 

I watch in awe as the rolling spikes cross Dragon’s skin, and his body tenses. After the first pass, Dragon’s shoulders have relaxed visibly. Mistress Daphne whispers to him, and moves the silver tool around his scar some more before removing it, and shifting to the next toy. 

It seems that Quirrell is familiar with her progression, because he already has the next item in hand. They exchange the implements, and with a swift jerk of her wrist, the whip comes crashing down on Dragon’s exposed back. He jumps, but doesn’t make a sound. I see his hands grip the tops of the cross, and the whip crashes down again. At this point, I believe she is testing to see how far Dragon will allow her to go, and personally, I can’t see myself getting this far. I don’t know if it hurts, but the crack of the whip leaves a strained feeling in my gut. 

She continues, pressing harder and harder, and the more the whip crashes down, the more I want to end this. Daphne starts grunting when she brings the whip to his back, only stopping to rest for a few moments, as she twirls the multi-tailed whip so that the tips brush against Dragon’s reddening flesh. 

After a few turns, she returns in earnest, whipping harder than before. The only signs of strain on her part are the grunts that exit her throat as the whip comes down again. I don’t know how much longer I can watch. I find my eyes trained on Dragon more than her, and finally I see something that makes me want to intervene. Dragon’s shoulders are shaking, but he is still completely silent. 

Soon the dominatrix seems to grow bored with the whip, and lack of participation on Dragon’s part. She turns to Quirrell and asks for a cane. A long slender piece of rattan or bamboo flexes in her hands. She brings it down on his shoulders first, and then attacks his already scarlet back. 

A few more dull cracks and I can’t take it anymore. Dragon is obviously distressed, but his pride will not allow him to tell her to stop. I know it could be dangerous to intervene, but I can’t sit and watch him shake with heavy breath as she continues to whip him. I stand, feeling courage well in me. 

“Stop,” I say. Even to my ears, it is soft, so I call out again, louder this time, “Stop!”

One more crack of the cane against his skin and red stripes, flush with anger, stare back at me. Mistress Daphne turns to face me with a questioning look, and I simply shake my head, hoping she understands. Quickly, she motions to Quirrell; they leave through the dark curtain, and finally I move close enough to hear the soft sobs that Dragon is trying valiantly to hide. 

“Dragon,” I whisper in his ear. His back is littered with red – most of it covering his scar – and I want to soothe it. The stripes look painful and I reach out tentatively, tracing the scarlet lines. He flinches slightly at my touch, but doesn’t ask me to stop. I don’t know why I feel the need to comfort him, but the drive is incredible. Once I realise that I am touching him, I pull away, feeling like I have just crossed an invisible boundary.

“It’s all right, you can touch me,” he replies through sobs, “I won’t bite.” Then his soft laughter invades my ears. His laughter is a sweet sound that makes my heart flutter slightly. 

I find this moment completely ludicrous. He’s flirting with me and I’m embarrassed about touching him. I reach out and touch him again, tenderly tracing the lines. I touch the scar, and feel sadness. My fingers dip into each groove of the silvery line, and I feel ashamed for taking advantage.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I question, slowly turning him around. It’s a good thing that the chains have an axis or moving him would be harder. 

“I’m fine,” he says, with his head still bowed. We are face-to-face, but he refuses to look at me. I lean in shyly and kiss his temple, feeling his salty tears on my lips. I lick them and taste the emotion – or at least I think I can – pouring from his heart. I want to know what made him do this, why he would allow someone to hurt him this way. I don’t believe that he is fine. Something happened, and now he’s chained to the ceiling as tears flow down his cheeks, and I am feeling the need to protect the blond from himself.

“Dragon,” I whisper, “why?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

He finally looks at me, and his usually pale face is red with the flush of tears and sadness. I reach out and stroke his cheek with the pad of my thumb, feeling the wet diamonds pool against my skin, and kiss him on the cheek. I know I am supposed to kiss him, and I will tell myself that is why I am doing this. 

I pull away and look at him. His eyes are so sad. I will do anything to make that look change. No one deserves the inner turmoil mirrored in his eyes. With his cheek still cupped in my hand, I kiss him, pressing my lips hungrily to his. His mouth parts easily for me, allowing passage. Our tongues press against one another, slowly rolling around one another as he allows me the control I need of this kiss. He tastes like the wine from dinner, and something else, something more animalistic. With each swipe of my tongue against his, I feel my heart flutter the same way it did during our kiss in his office. A trapped moan escapes my lips, as the intensity shifts to a needy pulse of raw emotion. He gives me the same gift, answering my vocal tango with one of his own, and I can’t bring myself to release his soft lips. Not yet, I tell myself. After a few moments in the blissful rapture of one another’s mouths, I pull away. As if I have been doing it forever, I trail my fingers down his front until I reach his bellybutton, and notice the depth of our contact. 

His cock is hard and I can even see it throb beneath the soft, black fabric of his boxer briefs. I realise I haven’t broken contact with him yet, and feel the heat radiating from his body. My hand is still softly caressing him, and I stop. I know that the touches might not be unwelcome, but I feel a little strange knowing his state of arousal is my fault. Then, as if my own senses bring me back to reality, I notice my own straining arousal. Twice this has happened with Dragon. I don’t know who is to blame, but for now, I don’t care. We seem to have exchanged a mutual need, even if the air is full of tension and unanswered questions. I can see the desire to ask me things in Dragon’s eyes, but I am not ready to answer. He must be feeling the same way, but I can only presume. 

I look at Dragon. His cheeks are flushing, but he’s no longer crying, and that’s all I can ask for in return. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. He looks at the floor as he waits for my reply. I lean in and kiss him again, enjoying the feeling of touching someone again. It seems like it’s been forever since I touched someone, or enjoyed another’s attentions, and Dragon is freely giving - what I so desperately need – affection. I pull away because I don’t want him to read anything into my actions. The last thing I want to do is hurt him.

“It’s all right,” I reply, honestly not sure how I feel, “let’s get you dressed.”

He nods and allows me the opportunity the release the cuffs on his wrists. It is awkward to reach his cuffs because he’s so tall and I am not. Our bodies touch briefly, and I am sure he feels my erection. He saves me the humiliation of commenting, and I am grateful. Emotionally exhausted, Dragon slumps and I catch him, taking him to the chair with his clothes. After dressing quickly, we return to his office. I check my watch, it’s not even eleven yet, and sit down expectantly, waiting for an answer. I want to know why. I want to at least understand how someone can put themselves through so much. What drives a person to allow another to beat them? I know that some people enjoy spankings, even I have thought about the eroticism of giving up control, but this was not erotic. Dragon allowed himself to fall on the chopping block, and I want to know why. 

I wait in silence, and finally break the tense din. “Why did you let it go so far?” He doesn’t look at me. 

“I just needed to feel,” he says. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I didn’t make her do it.”

“No, but you didn’t stop her either. Is your pride so large that you will allow someone to beat you until you bleed?”

“I’m fine. Daphne knows what she’s doing. If the sub doesn’t give her the safe words, she takes it literally. I don’t have to explain my actions to you.”

“No, you don’t,” I reply quietly. “Dragon?” I ask, waiting for his acknowledgement.

“What?” he asks tersely.

“How did you get that scar?”

“Harry, I think you should go. I will see you tomorrow,” he says and stands.

I start to protest, but he steps through the door behind his desk, and closes it roughly. He leaves me no choice, and I find myself irritated at Dragon’s show of pratish behaviour. “Git.”

I leave The Dragon’s Tail feeling very sour about the evening. The drive home is quick, and without a second thought, I crawl into bed feeling more confused than the night before. “It’s almost over. You can do this,” I assure myself as I close my eyes.


	9. The Gods Are Punishing Me

Chapter 9: The Gods are Punishing Me  
Draco’s POV – Thursday Night/Friday Night

 

The door to my private bathroom closes behind me and I sigh in relief. My body is still protesting the lack of amour of the past few years, and the more I try to fight it, the more Harry Potter weasels his way into me. My cock still aches with the intensity of the dungeon, and even if I am sore, the need to indulge my fantasy is far superior to the discomfort I feel from Daphne’s overzealous treatment. 

I feel a little ashamed by my display, but I think I am even more ashamed at allowing myself to fall so madly in love with a straight man. I haven’t even known him a week, but being around him makes me feel like we’ve known each other forever. I try to remind myself how completely absurd this whole situation is, when I feel the strangling need to release all of this pent of pressure and frustration. I slowly unbutton my trousers, stroking my hardness through the material, imagining that Harry is pressed up against me like the night of our first kiss. I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. The tingles that travel through my body are enough to make any sane man crazy.

I haven’t desired another man in years. When Regulus died, my libido, along with the ability to care, died as well. Harry is igniting old feelings, old thoughts, and as exciting as it is, I am scared out of my mind. His scent lingers in my nostrils; the memory of his soft touches still excites my nerves. My skin remembers Harry’s touch as much as my mind; I don’t want to forget the way he feels against me. I could writhe in this abyss of absolute desire forever, if that’s what it took. No one has ever made me feel this way.

I tease my cock again, not wanting to end the delicious sensations that ripple through me. I close my eyes and imagine my hand on Harry’s groin, pressing against me Wednesday night. He was so hot and hard then, I just wanted to rip his clothes from him, and fuck him on my desk immediately. All of these images skirt my thoughts as I drop my trousers to my ankles, cupping my balls lightly though the soft material of my boxer briefs. I don’t know how my cock stayed inside the low-cut underwear, but it did. I guess I should be grateful I didn’t embarrass myself any more than I already have. I got hard from Harry touching and kissing me, and now I think he will desire space from our strange partnership. 

I want Harry so bad I can taste it. Not just the desire, but I taste his very unique flavours and their smells, as they all coalesce on the tip of my tongue, where I last touched him. With slow strokes, I tease my cock, needing to feel every wave of pleasure as it bounds through me. My tip is leaking and sensitive, making me shudder with each jerk of my wrist. I change my pace and twist the skin around my cock as my hand slides down the shaft. I swear, I am harder than I have ever been in my life, as images of Harry filter into my mind again. His lips are parted and hungry; we kiss, tangling our tongues around one another until finally, more is required. On my knees before him, I am licking the head of his cock, tickling the reddened flesh, as his fingers twine my hair. 

I lean over the sink, trying not to fall down. Eyes closed, and lips parted with each stroke, I think of Harry. His cherry red lips pressed against mine, as our bodies tangle together, are the only thing that matters in this fantasy, because this is the only place I will ever have him, in my mind. Each stroke brings me closer to the magnetic charge that surges through my body, and I abandon myself completely to the pleasure. My voice becomes a hollow sibilance that seems to fill the room with each stroke. The fire within me starts to sear each nerve as I continue to imagine Harry before me, surrounding me with all his strength and glory. My mind dances with vivid, unbidden images of the dark-haired, green-eyed man, like the soft falling petals of a rose detaching from its stem. Everything becomes brilliant, and suddenly I can no longer keep my eyes open, as I feel the sticky nectar of my conquest coating my hand. After the blinding pulses of pleasure, I finally hear my own growls of unabashed desire. 

I stroke myself a few more times as the sensations become dull and fractured. Everything seems to be broken at the moment – not to mention pulling back together in some insane irony – but I plan on rescuing what little sanity I have at the moment by firmly distancing myself from Harry. I can only describe my feelings as the mania of being around someone new, and allowing their virginal presence to influence rational thoughts. I don’t deserve this fleeting joy of post-orgasmic bliss, but I hold to it tight. I haven’t done that in so long, I wasn’t sure it would ever happen again. I even stayed my hand the first three nights Harry elicited hormone-induced reactions from my body. I think I am doing well, considering the circumstances. 

No matter how loath I am to admit it, I like the way my body reacts to Harry. With a soft smile, I begin a hasty clean up; I do have paperwork to complete, after all. Right, my job, a job I have neglected for days due to Harry’s recent plunge into my world. At least all the shipments for the next week or two have arrived, now it’s down to boring paperwork and payroll. I don’t think my staff would like it very much if I neglected to submit their hours to the accountant to take care of. God, I should just do all of this myself, but I don’t want to. 

In this strange twist of fate, I feel the walls closing in, and no matter how far I try to get away from the cruel bitch’s grasp, she tugs me tighter, pulling, mocking me. I feel like I am in shambles as the harsh, bright lights of my office finally caress my corneas, and the overwhelming desire to hide away washes over me. How the hell did I let Severus talk me into this? I am falling apart after less than a week. Is there something that the fates know that I don’t? If so, they should clue me in, because I am getting damn tired of this game. All of the events in my life lead to one bit of heartbreak or another, whether I caused it or someone else contributed wholly to the suffering. I don’t believe it is right to assume that I never have fault, but there were times, Adrian Pucey being a prime example, that I truly wasn’t at fault. I gave in to my teenage hormones, allowing my first to take me to his bed and leave me with a disease that never goes away. The betrayal never goes away, because you always look back and wonder, why me? I could be an insane romantic and assume that the fates determined Harry and me to be compatible in another life, but I think that I am grasping at straws with that notion. I have never felt as alive with anyone else as I do when I am with him, and the idea that I will suffer some long, painful heartbreak scares the shit out me. 

At nearly three o’clock in the morning, I finally receive a text message that reads: Good intentions have paved a new path to Lucifer’s court.

A sigh of relief washes over me, and I tend to the final touches on my financial report. I am barely awake, but I don’t care. Everything seems so perfect now.

Somehow, I make it through all my paperwork and head home when the club closes for the evening. Finally, inside my penthouse, I look around, surveying the lavish place I call home. Walking through the elevator doors, I step in the foyer with dark marble floors. My shoes scuff against the surface, leading me further in, towards the sitting room, which has four stairs leading to the couches, chairs, and large screen television that I barely watch. I walk past the entryway to the sitting room, only to be greeted by the kitchen on my left. The black countertops gleam at me through the soft lighting that seems to show just how empty my home really is. The stainless steel refrigerator with one large door glares me, as though it knows I won’t be filling it for quite some time. 

I have three bedrooms in this too-large-for-me penthouse. My bedroom, the master bedroom, is off the sitting room. The other two bedrooms are to the left of the kitchen, with a nice sized laundry area. There is also one large bathroom between the two guestrooms, or what I like to call the children’s rooms, because that’s what they should be used for. I never use them, but they are fully furnished, and I choose to leave them that way. 

My favourite part of the apartment is the Roman-style columns between the sitting room and kitchen. They stretch to the tall ceiling, and between the pair is a nice bar I purchased some years ago. None of these little perks really matter, they are just good distractions that no longer work. The ghosts of the past seem to lurk closer than ever, and the uncertainly of things to come looms closer still. It feels like a nightmare of perpetual loop at this point, but I won’t be defeated by my wayward emotions. I will get my emotions under control, and stop acting like a lovesick teenager. Sleep is the best option for me at this point; I have had enough of thinking about Harry for one day, and it’s only going to get worse later this evening. 

*****

After dressing in a simple pair of black slacks and an emerald-green button-down, I make my way to the club. The city seems so alive tonight for some reason. Fridays are always fun in Scottsland. People from all over North Carolina flock to Scottsland in order to get a taste of big-city nightlife; most of the people on the streets are the young professionals of the city, or folks from out of town. People come here for the wild, crazy and uninhibited nightlife that can’t be found anywhere else. Fundamentalist Christians and bigots drive most of this state, but I try not to let their influence get me down. I understand their reasoning, but I don’t agree with it – converting people for the sake of converting them seems to cheapen the idea of Christ’s everlasting love – and even if they tried to convert me, I promise to give them a run for their money. I am not into the games, the word play that makes me seem evil for loving a man. Love is love – at least to me – no matter how they want to spin the ideals. I see them walking along Ravenclaw Lane, distributing tracts to anyone that passes by, and I feel sorry for them. 

The closer I get to the outskirts of town, I see less and less random groups of people, and more select groups of probably newlyweds and young couples. All of the regular nightlife seems to spread out evenly through the city, stopping at The Dragon’s Tail. All of the more popular hangouts are towards the centre of the city, but I don’t mind. Everyone who matters knows how to find me, and as sad as it is, I never lack for customers because I own the only gay club in town. I also own the only establishment that features drag shows and costume nights. It definitely keeps me in business and for that, I am grateful. I’m not cynical; I just don’t think it is right for people to force their beliefs on others. I am perfectly content with my skewed form of spirituality – no matter how much it is claimed I will burn in hell – I think the powers that be will decide my fate fairly enough, if such a thing exists in this world. 

There are leaves scattered across the road, blowing to-and-fro, as if Mother Nature is snoring; I suppose that is an accurate description for her nearly six-month hibernation. When the city is in full bloom again, all of the bright yellow and orange trees lining the roads will become blooming boughs of brilliant green, much like Harry’s eyes… The bastard stays in my mind and I can’t get rid of him! I don’t know what I did to deserve this torment. Attraction is an addictive thing, but it leads to madness. I know Harry and I will never have anything beyond a ‘business arrangement’, no matter how much I wish otherwise. He intrigues me. I want to know what makes him tick, I want to know what he thinks about when he isn’t on stage, I want to know how he prepares for his role in a play – so many things I want to know, but feel I will never be allowed. Is it wrong to want to know more? I can’t decide if I am treading too close to the end of ‘associates’ and closer to ‘friends’. I haven’t had ‘friends’ in ages, so I don’t see why now I would be actively seeking any. 

It is odd how a quick drive can clear the mind.

When I arrive at the club at seven o’clock, everyone is waiting for me to open the doors. I am sure they get tired of this routine, but I can’t trust anyone else to maintain the same standards that I do in my own establishment. Maybe one day I will find someone, but for now, this is a one-man show. I completed all the paperwork last night, so I think I will grab a few drinks before Phoenix arrives. I am looking forward to seeing him, but at the same time, I am dreading it. I can’t tell him what happened last night, we just aren’t that close. No matter how much I wish to spill my burdens in his lap, my pride won’t let me, and neither will my secretive side. For all I know, Harry has connections with my father or his lackeys. I can’t afford to make mistakes with this, no matter how much I want it. 

My bartender, Vector, and I have a quaint conversation regarding some of her ideas at the club, and like a good employer, I listen to them with rapt interest as the drinks keep coming. The music is loud, but I find it to be a nice distraction, and for once, I take to my own dance floor alone. I move to the bass-driven rhythms like a man possessed, flinging my arms around wildly and seducing my own body. It’s so strange to dance alone, but soon a nice looking blond that I am not familiar with joins me. He isn’t my normal type, but we are just dancing. Truth be told, Harry is my type; he’s strong, good-looking and shorter than I am. However, those are merely superficial traits that I look at, and honestly, I am not superficial. I quite like the way his messy black hair seems to always fall into his eyes, no matter how many times he pushes it back, and when he laughs, he really laughs. He doesn’t fake it like most people, and I love that. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” the young man asks me. I delicately decline, informing him I am waiting on someone to arrive. He looks a little disappointed, his eyes moving a little to the left, and I turn and see why his attention wavered. Standing behind me in the most delicious suit is Phoenix. His stout shoulders present the dark charcoal blazer with exquisite angles; add the pale grey shirt underneath that has the first few buttons undone, and he looks like a damn god. His hair is messy, as usual, and I have to admire the way his eyes twinkle in the obscurity of the dance floor. He is wearing the most brilliant smile, drawing me closer to him. I try to display my best moves as I move towards him, because I can’t resist the urge to show off. Even though the potential factor continues to plummet, I can’t help but remind myself that there is potential in his potent kisses. Regardless of my consciousness screaming at me to run, I move closer, taking his hand, and spin him around the floor along with the music. He takes it in stride, and it endears him further to me. I like this strange connection, even if I know it could possibly end in disaster. Maybe it truly is the thrill of the chase, but I feel like he is slowly being cornered. I wonder, will he strike out when presented with the challenges I offer, or will he fold, bend and contort to my advances?

“You’re too good at this,” Phoenix says in my ear as I move in closer. I want to feel his body against mine, even if I know it will only spell trouble. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” I reply with a chuckle. Watching him move so gracefully makes me envious – he truly doesn’t know his own ability – and I wonder if he cares. Does he care that almost everyone on the dance floor is eyeing him with caution? Does he know that he looks good in the suit, and that it clings to him, as a lover should? I want to present these, and many other questions, but where to begin? We seem to never have enough time, and I think I am partially at fault for that. Last night, I ended things before they began, and no matter the reason, I shouldn’t have shirked my responsibility to Har-Phoenix. The only reason I am continuing to mingle is because he needs this, not me. I am perfectly aware of the wonders of screwing a man, and kissing a man; he on the other hand, is not. 

“How about a drink?” I ask, feeling the effects of the ones I previously imbibed already waning. 

“Sure!” he replies, with the kind of exuberance one comes to expect from a child. His giddy rapture makes me want to kiss him even more. He licks his cherry-red lips, and smiles as I take his hips in my hands. The music shouldn’t be wasted, but I suppose informing him might be prudent.

“Just after this song, OK?” I whisper in his ear. I feel his body shudder, and want to ask if that was a good or bad reaction. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, taking my advances in his stride. Yes, I am being a horrible man, but with Phoenix, I can’t help it. He seems to draw out the best in those he meets, and I only want to take advantage of that for this moment. It seems too perfect to ignore the remaining lyrics of the song. I don’t want to abandon this closeness, if I can help it. 

To my surprise, Phoenix turns to face me, and I wonder if it was the growing erection pressing against him or something else. His arms wrap around my neck and he pulls my ear to his luscious mouth, and whispers, “You seem to be in a much better mood tonight.” Gods, even when he whispers, he has that delightful accent! 

I can only nod in response. The shiver that is travelling in slow motion down my spine seems to have stopped at my groin, fondling me. And then his hot breath and soft smelling skin comes closer again. “I’m glad. You were a right mess last night.”

Gods! Does he know half of what he’s doing to me? If it weren’t almost over, I would end it all now. Being this close to him makes me want to do bad things, and I mean the kind of bad things that will forever tarnish my already obscure reputation. 

“Phoenix,” I whisper attempting to gain his attention. However, he seems to have taken it the wrong way, because, before I can look at him properly, his lips are pressed against mine, tongue begging for entry between my lips. I want to pout, and throw a tantrum like a two-year-old being denied cake and ice cream at a birthday party. His mouth is so soft against mine, his tongue hard and demanding, taking exactly what he wants. His fingers slowly move to tangle in my hair, pulling at the roots with fevered determination. After the initial shock is gone, I reciprocate, bringing his body closer to mine, sliding my arms around his back through the opening of his blazer. His body is so hard with muscle! Touching him makes me quiver, and with truly abandoned care for the situation, I grind my pelvis against him. I don’t care that he knows this time, I don’t care that he knew before, but now it’s almost important that he know how I react to him. Maybe this is a good night to lay down some ground rules, but the more I try to pull away, the more his lips continue to taunt me, drawing me closer. 

If he cares about my erection, he doesn’t show it. Instead, I feel his body relaxed against me, and it feels so good. I stopped hearing the music; now all I hear is the stampeding hammer of my heart in my chest as our tongues duel wildly. I moan loudly, pressing harder against him, and finally with a muffled grunt, he pulls away. His arms are still around me, as my arms are still around him, and he smiles briefly. “How about that drink, yeah?”

This should be a crime. This whole scenario seems so surreal. He leads me to the bar with his arm locked on mine, and I immediately miss the closeness of our bodies. We arrive at the bar far sooner than I like, and with determination, I attempt to distance myself from Phoenix. I can’t take the closeness; it’s slowly eating away at me. 

Vector leans forward with a brilliant smile, and asks for our drink order. I think Phoenix ordered somewhere along eight shots, but I can’t be sure. 

“Tell me something,” he starts, “what happened? What did you have to feel last night?”

Before I can answer, Vector is filling a long row of shot glasses, and Phoenix takes two, passing one to me. “Cheers!” I knock back the shot in time with him, and he quickly hands me the next. I don’t know what he’s just given me, but it’s nice and smooth. I don’t feel that horrible gag-reflex that typically accompanies hard liquor. I knock the second back, and feel the warmth spreading in my stomach like wild fire – almost like Harry’s kisses – and sit down on the stool. He doesn’t know I had drinks before he arrived, or if he does, he doesn’t care. He should know I am more guarded than most people are; a few drinks aren’t going to get me to talk. Maybe I am just over analysing the situation. 

“It’s not important, Phoenix. Why don’t we just enjoy the evening?” 

“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but after all of this,” he says while gesturing between us, “we can at least be straight about one or two things. I would like to think you and I could be friends, after all is said and done.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there is only one person who knows such intimate details of my life, and right now, you and I are far away from the level of intimacy that dictates any sort of explanation for my actions.” I don’t mean to sound cross, but by the look on his face, I’ve fed him a raw lemon. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies turning his attention to the bar. He picks up another shot and drinks it quickly. What the hell has gotten into him? He demands answers, answers to questions I am not willing to answer, and then has the nerve to huff like a scorned lover. Maybe I am just overreacting, but there is not one person in this damned world that I answer to, least of all Harry Potter. I would have never known he existed, if he hadn’t invaded my world.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. I understand your position on the matter, but you have to understand, not everyone is an open book,” I say. He looks at me with the most intense stare he can muster, and then as if it never happened, he shrugs, and picks up another shot. 

“You should slow down,” I assert, feeling the need to point out the obvious. 

“Maybe so, but it’s well earned, mate.”

“Look, Phoenix, don’t take this the wrong way, but not everyone is crafted from the same mould.”

“I know that,” he says, “but I am not some… I don’t know. My – I have no ulterior motives.”

“That would make you a minority,” I scowl.

“OK, let’s drop this topic then, shall we?”

“I agree,” I riposte. “Why don’t you tell me about the play.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well first off, what’s the title and what kind of character are you playing?”

“It’s called ‘The Jocker’ and I am playing a punk in the nineteen thirties. Do you know what that is?”

“No, that that is the beauty of having someone around who does.” I smile. I can feel the alcohol thrumming in my veins like blood, and it feels good. Any irritation I felt before has become a soft hum of caution. 

“I’m a sex slave. I trade my body for safety, and other things.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds interesting. Trust Severus to choose a straight man to play a gay man.” I snort amusedly. 

“Actually, the benefactor of the play chose me, and Severus just went along with the appointment.”

“Well you should be honoured then. I can’t see them picking you if you weren’t up to the job.”

“No, I guess not. It’s just odd is all.”

“Why so odd?”

“Because I am enjoying myself with the research far more than I should.”

“In what way?” His body is totally relaxed against the stool; he is standing rather than sitting and I reach out for his arm, caressing it gently, hoping to coax more from him. 

His gaze turns to my hand, and I quickly pull away. I have to remind myself I am not seducing him, I am trying to earn his trust.

“Hey, what was Wood’s problem on Monday?” he asks spontaneously. It’s almost as if he just remembered Wood’s attitude, and feels the need to confirm some piece of information he’d already gleaned from the situation. 

“Wood’s a bastard. He thinks he owns me, and he doesn’t. We went on a date once, and he acted as if I was some China doll that needed to be handled with care. He was probably trying to scare you, but don’t pay him any attention. He’s new, like you – he’ll get over his need for affection soon.”

“What makes you think I am new as you put it?”

“It’s rather obvious. Maybe we should talk about something else?”

“All right, yeah. Well, in the play I am basically a submissive slut who meets a couple I envy, and will stop at nothing to get it. There are only six other actors, apparently auditions are on Monday, bright and early. We will most likely end up working long days. The show opens November first. I have already seen the flyers and stuff. Severus isn’t wasting any time,” he says and hands me another shot. He takes the single left on the bar, and quickly drinks it with a very loud yell. He motions Vector over again, and I can’t hear what he says, but I assume it has something to do with filling our drinks again. I don’t care; whoever is paying for the tab for this production has paid every night without fail.

“How do you feel about the role you are playing?”

“I don’t mind it so much. God! If Ginny were still around, she’d make a big fuss. I think she would hate this more than me kissing a woman!” he says with a strange glee in his voice. It’s as if the alcohol has already started to work its magic.

“So you don’t mind having to be up close and personal with a man?”

“It’s different, but not all bad. If the actors I end up working with look as good as you, I won’t have a damn bit of trouble.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” I say with a smile.

“You should. If I were a ponce, I would shag you,” he says with a lopsided grin.

“I think you are drunk.”

“Do you?” His grin hasn’t faded, but something in his face makes me think he is telling the truth, and it isn’t the alcohol. I am intrigued by his strange behaviour. It’s almost like he knows a secret, and he wants to hold it above everyone, dangling it with sadistic pleasure. 

“I think you might be a little too convincing, Mr P-Phoenix.”

“Am I?” His eyebrows quirk and the smile on his face has become a smirk that I want to wilt against. He’s so fucking delectable; I just want to taste him all night. 

I place my hand on his cheek, and caress it softly, and as though he could read my mind, his lips are pressed against mine and everything spins. Nothing in the room matters but his lips pressed against mine, and the painful throbbing in my groin as he moves closer still, positioning himself between my legs. If I could fuck him on the dance floor, he would be on his back, begging for more. His mouth tastes like the alcohol, but there is also something magnetic, pulling me closer and making me want more. If my tongue were my cock, I’d already be swimming in the agony of long restrained ecstasy, but as it stands, everything he does to my tongue goes straight to my cock. 

He pulls away with a smile. I didn’t even realise his hands were on my thighs until he removes them. I miss the weight of his touch already, needing more. It’s heavenly to be so close to him, and if I could sprout wings, I would. 

 

“Tomorrow night is the big drag show,” I say, feeling myself leaning into his presence. 

“Yeah?”

“You need to wear something as delicious as you did on Wednesday…” I say watching him carefully. He doesn’t seem to have any objections and simply replies with a nod. 

“I think I should go,” he says, and turns to leave. 

“Phoenix!” I call after him, and he turns around. Without asking what I want, he kisses me again, ravenously. If my cock had a moment to rest, that time was now over, and I could feel each whimper of need that tried to fight its way through my vocal chords. I have never kissed anyone like this, so uninhibited, so vibrant, before. It seems like everything this man does, he puts his whole heart into, which I wonder whom that ends up worse for, him or his lovers. 

The parting is almost more than I can stand, but I allow it, because I think another appointment with my private bathroom is in order. 

“You needed something?” he asks silkily against my ear. 

“Lunch, tomorrow?” I manage.

“Yeah, sounds good. Call me, yeah?”

With another kiss, he caresses my cheek softly. He is smiling, and his eyes are twinkling wildly. I wonder what the hell is going on in his head. I can only nod as I watch him retreat into the darkness. As soon as he turns the corner, I leave and make my way upstairs. My brain is so addled that by the time my trousers hit the floor, I only need to stroke myself a few good times and release comes. The end is spectacular, removing some of the obstacles of my swimming thoughts and hopeful desires. For the moment, I am content with this little game of tug-war we are playing, because it keeps things interesting. 

I sit at my desk and bury my head in my hands; I know I am in too deep. I will end up drowning in a pool of pity and absolute heartbreak if I can’t keep myself under control. I didn’t want to touch him, but I did anyway, and now I sit with the guilt of whether or not to explain the growing affection I am feeling. I am an honest person, and I think if I have to wait to tell him any longer, I will end up crushed under the foot of despair. It seems so extreme, but I can’t contain the attraction – it’s almost cosmic – the way we connect. I want to ask if he can feel it too, but at the moment, I am too much of a coward. Maybe tomorrow… maybe not, I don’t know. I know one thing; this man is someone I want to be around for a long time to come. I have a feeling there is never a dull moment with him, and I can appreciate that in a friend… Phoenix, you are such a mystery to me. I want to solve the puzzle that is you, and bask in the madness that springs from it.


	10. Punishment Doesn't Feel So Bad

Chapter 10: Punishment Doesn’t Feel So Bad  
Draco’s POV – Saturday

 

As I roll out of bed, I instantly regret it. Late nights and early days are not good for the soul, no matter how much I adhere to the insanity. Not to mention I drank much more than I probably should have. All of those shots Harry kept feeding me are taking their vengeance now. My head is swimming as though I have a damn fish tank stationed in my skull. Christ, I’ve only been asleep six hours, and I feel as though I could go for another twenty. After a quick shower, shave, and all of the regular necessary functions, I get my plans together. 

I think after lunch with Harry, I will have to have a nap or something. My energy is gone. Maybe it’s all the stress this week that has me so tired. I have to say, I am oddly excited about seeing Harry again today. His behaviour last night has me intrigued. I want to know why he was so affectionate, and what brought about the sudden departure. I have to remind myself that he isn’t gay, but maybe, just maybe, we can find a suitable comfort zone for both of us. I would hate to lose his presence in my life. I usually leave looking my best, but being around him makes me want to look even better. I feel like a peacock displaying my feathers, saying ‘look at me’. 

Tonight will be a busy night; I am so glad that everyone knows the routine well enough that I don’t have to coordinate every little detail. If I had to be the go-between for all of it, I think I would have cancelled this event a long time ago. All I do is the stage schedule, and Lavender takes care of the music. Everyone is booked ahead of time, and they receive seventy-percent of the entry fees, plus tips. I keep all drink sales, and since there are so many people that end up at the club on Saturday nights, I am not hurting for funds at the end of the night. If I work in some of Vector’s ideas, I might actually be able to double my profits for the month. I have to be careful, and conduct all of the needed research first, though.

If I can get the niche, then people will come to The Dragon’s Tail for a specific service, one that only I can provide. At least I cater to the gay and lesbian community; without this place, I don’t want to think about the chaos of ‘regular’ clubs. The Wednesday night shows are a good idea. There is always new talent, and I am never lacking entertainment. I think that incorporating new ideas are crucial to the success of a business, and I am willing to take the chances in my personal investment. As long as there is a need for what my club offers, I will always have a customer base. It isn’t all about the money, but it is nice to know that I am seeing the fruits of my labour. 

As my thoughts wonder about the possibilities, they aimlessly land on Harry again. I wonder what college was like for him, what are the kinds of people he hung around; did he always want to be an actor? There are so many things I want to know about him, because behind those brilliant green eyes there are many untold stories, some that I can only hope to hear one day. I would love to hear his ideas on my club, or just listen to him wax poetic about whatever topic comes to mind. Maybe that’s why I had the sudden urge to ask him to join me for lunch. I honestly don’t know why I invited him to; I know that inviting him means I want to be closer, but I don’t think he is ready for any commitments. I know spending more time with him is just going to keep trouble knocking on my door, but I can’t help it. I am like a bee searching for pollen, and he is the perfect rose to offer it. At least I have a lot to keep myself busy with until lunch, and first things first, call Severus. I need a costume for this evening, and he is the perfect resource. At the theatre, they have a costume shop, which I normally browse to get my costume for the evening together. I quickly dial Severus’ mobile number, feeling the warmth of anticipation as the ring lazily taunts my ear.

“Snape here.”

“Severus, how are you?” I say jovially. I remember someone saying that if you smile on the phone that the other person can hear it in your voice. Maybe if I smile, his attitude won’t seem too sour. 

“What do you need, boy?”

“I need to pop over to the costume shop. It’s drag night, and I have nothing to wear.”

“Since when did my theatre become your personal clothing gallery, Dragon?”

“Well, never, but I was hoping you’d help me out,” I reply, acting every bit as hurt as I am by his accusations. I can admit I am spoiled, but I’ll be damned if I want Severus pointing it out for the sake of chiding me like a child.

“What are you thinking about, Dragon? I don’t have time to play this game with you.”

“Actually, I was thinking sexy school marm. I need a blouse, a skirt and some kind of necklace. I already have those black Victorian boots…”

“Fine, two o’clock, and don’t be late.”

“Of course not, see you then, Severus.”

With a final grunt, he hangs up; well, he slams his phone shut is more like it. Some people will never know the joy of a smile. I try not to think of his sour attitude, but before I can rid myself of those thoughts, my phone begins to ring. The outside of the clamshell flashes with Harry’s name, and without hesitation, I answer, feeling the pull at the edges of my lips as they curl upwards. 

“Hallo?”

“Hey, Drac-on?” He clears his throat. “Dragon.”

“I was just getting ready to call you, Harry,” I chirp at the sound of his voice. “How are you?”

“Ah, I’m good, yeah. Listen, mate, something’s come up so we will have to do a rain check on lunch. Is that all right? I feel horrible,” he says with the softest, most downtrodden voice I have possibly ever heard. I can only guess that whatever came up is much more important in his life than I am. I can’t be too hurt by this news; he and I have no real connection. I feel the muscles in my face shifting downward, and mentally pout.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Some other time,” I reply, trying to sound cheery. It isn’t working, because his voice bristles in response.

“I’ll make it up to you, yeah? Trust me, if I could make it, I’d be there. I’ll see you at nine, OK?”

“Perfect,” I reply. “Goodbye, Harry.”

I barely hear him say ‘bye’ before I feel a combination of jealousy and disappointment. Something is obviously more important than lunch with me, so I have to accept that. We aren’t dating – we aren’t anything to one another – so I don’t know why I feel so upset. Maybe the rejection is digging into me. He did sound truly let down by his inability to attend, so I suppose that should be some small consolation. I will tender the kindling, until I can spark something more… I have to admit that even with my mounting disappointment, I still have his presence later tonight to look forward to, which is at least something. 

*****

Before I know it, it’s time for me to meet Severus at the theatre. I guess time flies when you brood, because I woke at eleven o’clock, and for nearly three hours I have been trying to do anything but think about Harry. I feel so damned pitiful; everything I like about him now is completely superficial, but I feel such a strong draw to him that I don’t care. He is the precious metal to my gem; at least, that is the way I feel we fit together. I hurry down the elevator, and get to my car within fifteen minutes. The theatre is less than ten minutes away, so I take my time to arrive at Most Potente Productions. Remus and Severus are already there, which always brings a smile to my face to see the two of them. I think Remus tags along to keep Severus’ short temper in check, even though he has his own obligations. As a freelance journalist, Remus Snape is awarded a certain amount of freedom, which I am sure he and Severus both appreciate. 

“You look like a wet rat, Dragon. No one taking care of you these days?” My godfather’s southern drawl trembles in my ears, making me shudder. I never did like the long, thick, twangy accents that most North Carolinian’s have. Like the rest of the civilised world, I am under the impression that most of these people have no intellect. I shall have to ask Harry his thoughts on the matter, especially since he isn’t from here originally. 

“Very nice, Godfather,” I say, ignoring him in favour of Remus. I give the brunet a tight, warm hug. I haven’t seen him in quite some time, and seeing his friendly face is just enough to chase away some of the regrets. He is always so warm and inviting, a stark contrast next to Severus, the cold and very distant demeanour of his husband. Remus’ last assignment kept him so busy that even Severus was starting to wonder where his beloved had run off to; I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder after all. 

“You need to cut your hair. It looks too feminine,” Severus chastises me. 

I don’t need to cut my hair. I think it looks good. It’s long enough to wear in a ponytail, should I choose, or I can wear it down around my face, bringing out my eyes with the pale stands of silky white-blond hair. I don’t care what Severus thinks of me, I like how I look, and Harry seems to as well. I used to keep it clean cut and short, but once people started recognising me, I had to do something… I couldn’t look like Lucius anymore. I needed to be different in some way. I refuse to dye my hair, my pale skin would never look good with any other colour, even if I still stand out like a sore thumb.

“You look good, Dragon,” Remus comments with a broad smile. The man is never without a smile, and if he is, step away slowly. Remus has a very cordial, easy-going disposition, but if he is angry, it is best to just let the mood run its course. In his own time, he will come around, making contact with you, rather than allowing you to make contact with him. I made the mistake once of pushing the issue, and didn’t see him or Severus for nearly six months. 

“Well it’s a good thing someone thinks so,” I reply haughtily. I turn back to Severus. His pale face is painted pink with irritation as the corners of his mouth twitch. He’s trying really hard to hold his stern expression, but it soon wavers and he pulls me into a reluctant embrace.

“It’s good to see you too, Godfather,” I mutter. Severus is emotionally constipated, so I don’t hold his dour attitude against him. For whatever reason, Remus is madly in love with this man. I have questioned his sanity before, but he just gave me a soft smile, and said, ‘Emotions don’t make the man, the man makes the emotions.’ I never forgot those words, because the more I thought about them, I realised he might be right. A man is not the sum of his emotions but rather he is the vessel, which houses the emotions he directs, feeling and experiencing them regularly. Those words also came as a complete shock to me, because he knew about Regulus’ death. He tried to comfort me, inviting me over more often, but I often declined in favour of sitting at the penthouse, watching the streets below. He never said how he knew about Regulus Black’s death and I never asked; I didn’t think it was important. 

They all got along famously; Severus even approved of him, which was a damn feat. I have mostly good memories surrounding Regulus. We had our moments, but we always got through them. I loved him dearly, but I realise now that we weren’t in love. Being with one another provided a certain bit of comfort on lonely nights, and lots of very heavy sex. I can at least say that he was, in fact, always my friend first. We didn’t jump in bed on the first night; instead, he courted me, showing me all of the wonders of what a mature relationship could offer. 

I think my best memory is sitting, reading his favourite poems to him. He told me that he knew about the cancer for a long time, and that he didn’t want to do deal with the side effects of treatment, and finally, he just gave up. The cancer spread, leaving him with no options. There weren’t many at his funeral, just his brother, Sirius, and a few others. His mother didn’t show; Sirius said afterwards that she was too ashamed to have one son as a fag, and the other as a damned cross dresser. Warbulga Black never cared for either of them. She was a tyrant, dictating all of their movements like chess pieces on a board. Regulus rarely spoke of her, but I have heard Sirius’ tirades more than once, and know that he still harbours a lot of anger for her. 

“Enough with the pleasantries, let’s get this over with,” Severus snaps as he opens the theatre door. 

When his back is turned, I salute my godfather with the most ridiculously crude movement I can muster without his attention, and with a chuckle, Remus leads me forward. 

“This is completely off-topic, Dragon, but how is Harry doing?” Remus asks with a slow, melodic timbre that speaks of his curiosity.

“Very well, actually. You’d never know he’s straight with the way he prances about. Looks damn good in drag, too,” I reply with a fond reverie. The memories of Harry dressed in that sleek dress brings the warm thickness of saliva to my mouth, and I can’t help the gulp that follows.

“Indeed? How close is he with your patrons?” Severus asks with a half-demanding, half-intrigued tone. It’s as if he was wondering more than questioning, and I don’t know what to make of that. Severus is normally very well spoken; though this time, the carefully guarded tones are softer, less inhuman.

“Ah, very, sir,” I hesitate, remembering I have to play very neutral with Severus around. I can’t tell him about the little arrangement Harry and I made. If he were to find out, we would both most likely end up facing his ire, and I am sure Harry experiences that enough working for him.

Remus turns to look at me with a strange expression. I don’t understand his wide, searching eyes, but he has a soft smile creeping across his thin, pale, pink lips, and I wonder if he’s figured me out. 

“You have observed him kissing men?” Severus queries. He is still making his way quickly through the darkened theatre. I am barely keeping pace, but I am not as familiar with this environment as he is.

Severus hasn’t turned around once, so why did Remus? 

We move further into the bowels of the theatre, finally climbing the dark stairs that lead backstage. I feel like I am in an episode of the Twilight Zone, as the stairs creak beneath my feet like soft whispers of long forgotten secrets. As I try to avoid tripping on the dark stage, Severus continues on, and with his strong gait, he leaves both Remus and I behind on the darkened pathway. 

Lights flood the area suddenly and I realise he must have been searching for the breaker, or something similar. I am grateful when the soft, white light floods the black floor and I can see more than darkness. 

“Yes, he is kissing, and seems very comfortable with it,” I reply, trying not to sound too smug about it. Harry has been kissing me, not everyone else; he hasn’t even made overtures to any other men, so I hope that means good things for me. 

“We shall see Monday.”

Remus offers me a soft smile as we continue towards the back of the theatre and down a set of creamy concrete stairs. The light is far dimmer as we move further south, into Hell. There is a large, green door with chipped paint and tarnished hinges. Through the portal is the costume shop, or Hell as they refer to it here. The room we enter is possibly the most cluttered, disorganised mess I have ever seen. There is cloth strewn everywhere, and large tubs full of items. There is a large closet in the back with a sign on the door, but I can’t read it from where I stand. 

“Everything you need is in those boxes over there,” Severus says, while gesturing to the right hand corner of the room. “Just hurry it up; I do have things to do before Monday.”

I nod and head to the boxes, carefully sifting through the contents. I don’t know how the hell he knew exactly where to find everything, but it was there, the long herringbone designed skirt in a charcoal grey, and the crisp collared white blouse that would make me look and feel the part of a naughty school teacher. I can only imagine the looks I am going to get tonight; I think Fred and George will have quite a bit to say about my choice in dress. 

As I am leaving with my arms full, I see a jewellery box full of various necklaces, chokers, and collars; I find one very suitable for the evening. One last item catches my eye, and with fascination, I pick up the ruler, only to discover a wonderful pair of cat-eye glasses with plain lenses. Perfect. I feel oddly accomplished as I leave, waving to Severus and Remus. The brunet offers me a wink and a smile that leaves me shaking my head with curiosity. I will never understand Remus, I am sure of that. Nevertheless, I don’t care about Remus right now; my thoughts are set on one green-eyed, black-haired man that makes my toes curl, and I plan to gift him with the same feeling by the end of the night. That is, if he will let me. 

 

*****

Draco’s POV – Saturday Continued

 

After a desperately needed nap and some food, I slowly get ready for the evening. The charcoal grey, herringbone stitched skirt fits like a glove, and I slide it over the black, lacy satin panties I have stored away just for evenings like this. The bra matches perfectly, and I slide it on, putting the small, rubbery implants in place before donning the white blouse I picked up in Hell. My bra is visible through the thin, white material, and I love the effect. Schoolteacher meets librarian. I fluff the stiff collar of the blouse, tuck it into the waistband of the skirt, and add the choker necklace to complete the effect. Six rows of horizontal beads line my neck, with a large faux emerald in the centre. Two small rings dangle large, antique brass coins from the ends and it lies against my neck like a piece of chain-mail armour. The coins surround my neck, so many that they dip into the juncture of my collarbone, and I feel so… sexy. 

Normally, I don’t get into being in drag, but the thought of seeing Harry dressed like he was last time has me panting with anticipation. Part of me is scared that my self-control will become non-existent, and that, like a ravenous beast, I will claim first blood. Fondly, I think about the possible costumes Harry may dress in, and hope that he won’t run away. It seems to me as if he was running away last night, and I don’t think that will get either of us anywhere. 

Time seems to fly, and I snap out of my thoughts long enough to lace my calf-high, Victorian-style boots up. The heels are thin and short, and long, shiny strips of leather that close around the front of my legs shield my calves. Hook and eyelet closures allow me to thread the laces, and with one final look, I check the mirror. I look good. With quick, practiced movements, I wrap my hair at the back of my head, letting some of the white-blond tendrils lazily spring from the enclosure. With the last two accessories in hand, I check the clock, and realise I am running a little late. I rush to grab a simple handbag from the closet, and in my haste, nearly forget the ruler. Cat-eye glasses now in place, I lock up, and head to the garage. 

In record time, I make it to the club, give my employees the once over before we enter silently, and hit the lights. Luminescence floods the darkened building, and I feel slightly at ease, even if the excitement of seeing Harry looms dangerously close with every breath I take. Not long, and I will be graced with his addicting presence once again. His proximity is like a drug for me, one that I would gladly overdose on, given the opportunity. 

All the motions seem blurred as I await his arrival. Lavender already has the music playing, Vector has the bar taken care of; on the ground floor, the stage has been prepared, and lastly, I am simply waiting with rapt anticipation for the arrival of my Phoenix. I nibble on some of the catering as I help Vector with the layout, thankful that I have this kind of luxury. Hagrid has already made himself known, wearing another crushed velvet dress with the same large, blonde, curly wig as before. This time, the hair seems to sit higher on his head, filling out properly.

“Wig looks good tonight, Hagrid. What’s different?” I ask, as he picks up a handful of grapes and some honeydew melon. 

“Got a balloon underneath it. Looks good, dunnit?”

I can’t help the silly smile that crosses my lips, even I feel silly making the gesture, but I don’t care. With a hearty laugh, my MC walks away, leaving me alone to contemplate the rest of the evening. As soon as I feel the calm of the evening begin to wash over me, I hear my name called from three different directions. My work seems to never end, but at least these are crises that can be dealt with easily enough. It seems that there is never enough going wrong to balance out what goes right, so I don’t mind the change of pace. Two taps at the bar are broken, but thankfully, I have spares in my office amongst all of the other various maintenance supplies needed for this place. A nail is beginning to dance its way to the surface on the stage, and then, there is a stall currently having plumbing issues in the ladies' room. Easily enough, the tasks are delegated; the taps, nail, and plumbing problems are resolved. 

Time flies by, and soon I realise that Harry should be arriving at any moment. I don’t want to seem as if I am waiting for him to arrive, but I can’t stay the butterflies that threaten to burst from my abdomen as I pace the foyer. Fred and George slink by me with mischievous grins, and in return, I offer my best smirk. Apparently, they know a little more than their usually dim-witted expressions show, and for that, I suppose I should feel lucky. I wonder what costumes they have in store for us this time around. Those fifties-coloured outfits were definitely entertaining. 

I am so deep in thought that I don’t notice when Harry walks in the front doors. When I feel a soft tap on my shoulder, I jump at the surprise, feeling mighty foolish. I turn and look at him, my breath catching in my throat. I am not sure what to make of him other than the rush of desire that floods me. A white blouse hugs his torso like a second skin, and his nipples are sticking up, lifting the visibly soft material from his skin. As I take in the rest of his appearance, I see a plaid, too-short, pleated skirt with green, silver and black. He is wearing knee high, black socks that bunch up at the top of his quadriceps, that lead to a pair of sexy, heeled penny loafers. He even has the penny in the small niche at the front of the damn things. My first thoughts are of his legs wrapped around me, with that skirt pushed to his hips, letting me see, smell and taste everything. I realise I haven’t even taken a moment to admire his face, and look up slowly, enjoying the view. His blouse is not tucked into the waistband and is messy, and I think how like him this outfit truly is. My eyes connect with his, and nothing else seems to matter. None of the voices of arriving customers, none of the loud laughter, or even the music thumping in the background, can take my attention away from the vision that is Harry. It is so strange how I have been very true to myself for my whole life, but seeing this one man in drag makes me want to ravage him. 

Harry’s eyes are outlined with kohl, and his lips are painted with a soft red sheen. I can’t stop the images of that colour creating a ring around my cock. I know I told myself I wouldn’t let myself get too close, but I think I failed. I am already too close, already wanting more than he could offer, and it has to stop. I don’t want to feel this much attraction to someone, not when they can’t return my affections or desires. There is a lot beneath the surface of Harry, and I want to find out what he is hiding. What is he hiding behind? Is he afraid of something, maybe he is afraid of me? I don’t think I like where my thoughts are going. I shouldn’t assume the worst about him, he hasn’t done anything wrong, and he is only doing his job. Me, I am the one who is reading into every action he takes, every kiss we share, and every soft touch that ghosts against his skin. Our eyes haven’t left one another yet, which I take as a good sign. He is confident enough to hold my gaze as an equal, not bowing in fear at my intensity, and that is more than I could ever hope to experience with another man. I crave equality with another man, a sense of comfort with the unknown, a sense of belonging, even if I am on the outside looking in. I want to be weak and strong, loving and impassioned, upside down and right side up. All of these things are penultimate to one thing, though, and that is Harry’s devotion. I wonder if he can see the thoughts that are burning against my eyes, as I stare deep into the vibrant green orbs that hold me enraptured. 

After what seems like forever, I feel the urge to speak, to acknowledge the masterpiece which stands before me. Even in women’s clothes, he comes across as strength and desire. I could go the rest of my life without ever tasting the lust of another man, now that I have experienced what Harry can offer. I can touch and taste everything that he is, but I can’t have it, and maybe that’s what being with him is like. Maybe that is what truly surrendering to someone is. I shake off the thoughts, and finally use the courage that is trying to hide.

“Hey,” I manage finally. “You look… good.” I feel the warmth on my cheeks. I feel slightly embarrassed assessing him so closely, but I can’t help it. Underneath the soft pink on his cheeks, I see the red unfurling like morning glories exposed to the sun. 

“So do you,” he replies with an impish smile. “Come, let’s dance.”

He drags me to the dance floor, ignoring everyone around us. Like a panther, he stalks me, pulling me in tight to his body, then letting me go, only to reel me back in once again. As the songs change, his tactics shift as well, bringing me closer, and stealing a kiss every now and then. It isn’t until the fourth song that I realise my mouth is dry, and it isn’t from the dancing. That cruel anticipation of something more begins to creep over me, but I try to ignore it in favour of focussing my attentions on Phoenix. As the song ends, he approaches me with a soft grin. His lips and teeth capture my ear, and I feel a shudder of ruthless anticipation travel to my toes. Even though they are crammed tight in these shoes, I still feel them curl tightly against the insides. 

“Let’s get a drink,” I feel, more than hear, against my ear. 

I comply; there is no reason not to. As we walk towards the bar, pushing through the masses of people, I just watch the way his body moves. It’s like water, flowing deliciously, and all I want is for it to coat my skin. If I had one wish, it would be to let Harry’s body slide against mine, uninhibited, washing over me until I can’t take anymore. I picture my tongue laving behind each knee, carefully tickling the raven-haired man into submission. His lithe legs crook like beckoning fingers, and I follow him like a lost puppy. The bar isn’t far away, but I feel like I am crossing the desert towards an oasis of all the wonders that only Phoenix can offer. It is with a heavy heart that I sink deeper into the hidden secrets of this man, slowly devouring every morsel he offers with greed. I barely hear the order his gives Vector, but it doesn’t matter. I can honestly say that I will like anything that Harry offers to me. 

“Try this,” he says, handing me a glass, smiling brightly. 

I accept his offering, wondering why I am not taking charge instead. I should be the one leading this, but strangely enough, I don’t feel like I have to. I want Harry to feel comfortable, and he seems to be just that. His eyes glitter softly in the darkness of the club, always trained on me. He is sucking me in. 

“Good?” he leans forward to ask. 

“Better,” I say, when his mouth is only inches from mine. With a crooked smile, he continues to watch me, but only for a few moments before I am swept away in the blissful agony of his lips once again. He steals my breath, and releases me from his murderous lips. A giddy smile plays across his face, and he takes my hand gently, squeezing it, before turning to order another drink for us both. 

Time seems to fly by as drinks find their way to my hand, soon empty, and then we are back on the dance floor. We are both suitably drunk, our bodies seeming to hold one another up, rather than holding ourselves individually. I don’t even notice when the song ends and the lights dim. Harry has his arms wrapped around my neck, with his face resting in the crook of my neck. He’s so much shorter than I am, it’s adorable. His cheeks are madly red, and even in the darkness of the club, I can see his emerald-green eyes as he looks up at me. The look on his face seems precious, like he’s just given me a rare gift, and I store each curve of his lips and eyes as the light descends once again. He blinks a few times as he adjusts to the sudden brightness, but I can’t twist my gaze away. I am locked in this moment with him, taking for granted the many eyes that I feel watching, as we stand in the middle of the floor. 

I don’t pay attention to Hagrid as he makes announcements to move from the floor; they are preparing for the main exhibition already, which means that Harry and I have effectively been in our own world for a few hours now. I can’t believe it. It’s as if only moments have passed since we put our glasses back on the bar, and he led me to the main floor again. Seemingly, minutes of animalistic thrusts of hips and possessive hands lingering on one another’s bodies have passed, and I have no idea where all the time went. 

“Let’s get a drink, Dragon,” Phoenix says, tugging at my arm. I don’t mind getting another, but I already feel like I’m walking on a set of cottony clouds. With confident, but shaky strides, he leads us both back to the bar. We stay at the bar long enough to have a few drinks, and for the show to start, but my focus is on the man before me in all his shy, mysterious glory. 

“Phoenix,” I say, not feeling nearly as confident, “would you like to watch the show from the DJ booth?”

“Sure,” he replies, blinking at me. His lashes are long and curve like a well-defined arse. “One more drink, first.”

“OK, one more,” I confirm, taking the next concoction from his proffered hand. All thoughts of him not wanting to join me for lunch are gone as he takes my hand and leads us towards the red curtain at the entrance of the club. My only thoughts are of him, right here, right now. The muddy quagmire of thoughts seems to only solidify when he touches me; otherwise, I just feel, and instinctively move with him. Pushing past the curtain, I enter the code to the door, and we move upstairs to join Lavender. Through the smoky windows, we watch as Ginger and Spice open the show. I don’t even care what music is playing, only that Harry still has his hand wrapped in mine, tightly. 

Lavender ignores us as we take a seat in the two chairs beside her, watching as the lights dance across the twins. My attention returns to Harry, who is watching, though his eyes are barely open. I wonder what he is thinking about, and time flies once again as I watch him and not the show. I have seen this hundreds of times, no point in watching the queens when all I want to see is before me. Harry’s wig is as black as his natural hair, with two pigtails cascading down the sides of his head. The biggest difference is the curls and length, but I don’t care. If I watch him long enough, I don’t see the wig anymore, only him. 

“What are you looking at?” he asks, his face red, and smiling softly.

“You,” I reply honestly, not allowing the fear of rejection to manifest. 

“Enjoying the view?”

“Yes.” My breath feels heavier than it should; my heart is thudding hard in my chest.

“You have a couch. Let’s go to your office,” he says, standing.

I wonder why he wants to go to my office, but I don’t argue, and allow him to lead me. “Why do you want a couch?” I ask, feeling slightly goofy.

“More comfortable. Besides, I would much rather you stare at me in private.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” he replies with a smile. 

“Oh.”

On the landing to my office, I fumble for the keys I had stuffed in my bra, and unlock the door. He follows me inside, but plops down on the couch right after I close the door. He looks so comfortable with his eyes half open, and his chest rising and falling steadily. I can imagine his heart is beating as fast as mine is, ready to leap from my chest. 

“Come, sit,” Harry says softly. He doesn’t have to yell now that the door dulls the music, and I feel compelled to join him, against my better judgement. 

With unsteady steps, I join him on the couch, feeling self-conscious for the first time since we met. I can’t imagine being this intimate with Harry, even after kissing him, and losing myself in what he has to offer. For some reason, the trepidation of being this close to him isn’t inhibiting my progress towards the couch. I move as if guided by some unseen hand, which I believe is lust, but I can’t be sure. Finally seated, Harry shifts slightly, and I see the underwear he has chosen for the evening. White, cotton panties with small, pink cherry blossoms catch my attention. They are adorable, if such a word is appropriate. I wonder if he knows my penchant for Asian-themed artefacts. 

“So, how do you feel about everything?” I ask him. He shifts again, but I ignore it this time.

“It’s different. But not so bad.”

“You think you will be all right for the play, then?”

“Yeah, I think I will be fine.”

“So, you don’t mind kissing a man now?”

“No,” he says and shifts again, but this time he makes sure that our eyes are locked when he speaks. “I like it, probably more than I should.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I like this,” Harry says shyly. 

I can’t help the little bits of excitement that well inside me at his words. It’s like music to my ears, filling my soul with delight. “In general, or with me?” I know I sound like a teenager, but I think this is the best approach for now. He’s unsure of himself, and if I have to encourage him, I will.

“With you.”

“Ah.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, merely unexpected.”

“So…” 

I can’t think of what to say. For once, I am tongue-tied in regards to a man, or a man I want more with. I don’t think Harry is ready for what I want, even if he claims he likes kissing me. We sit silently, for what seems like ages, and then he looks at me with those wide, green eyes, and chuckles.

“Where is the loo?”

“‘Loo’?”

“You know, the bathroom?”

“Oh, that door behind my desk,” I say offhandedly, thankful that he is no longer beside me. My brain goes into overdrive, feeling each question begin to bubble to the surface. Instead of speaking, though, I get a nice view of his arse as he stands, and feel the tingles of arousal between my legs. Shit. I have to adjust myself, there is no way around it. The satin panties are clinging to me, making it very uncomfortable to sit with my half-erect cock between my legs. 

When I hear the bathroom door close, I quickly lift the skirt, shifting myself. I would rather him see my arousal than be uncomfortable. I rest my head on the back of the couch, letting the alcohol keep my mind swimming with lewd thoughts. It isn’t until I feel an alien weight settling on my lap, and pressing against my cock, that I open my eyes, startled. I didn’t even hear him leave the bathroom, and now he is straddling my lap with an innocent smile painted across his lips. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” I ask, feeling foolish. 

“Nothing,” he ripostes, capturing my lips. It feels so good to be wrapped in his arms. I feel his fingers threading through the pins holding my hair up, and quickly he disposes of them. I hear them clatter on the floor, and he pulls away momentarily, running his fingers through my tresses. I can’t help the moan of pleasure as the heat of his fingers travels from my head, straight to my cock. It’s as though my body reacts in stages, because once the tremors of electricity reach my groin, I notice that he, too, is hard. Then slowly, as if a crank is winding him up, his hips begin to slowly grind against my hardness. 

“Ah! Harry, what are you doing?” I ask, wondering if I really just spoke. My voice is hoarse and full of tension, but I don’t want him to stop. Without thinking, I take his hips in my hands, maintaining a firm grip, as he continues to rut against me. 

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that, but I thought --” I say, before another moan rips from my throat. 

“Thought what?”

“I,-I thought you were straight.”

“I think it doesn’t matter.”

“Harry,” I start, but he quiets my words with a heated kiss, stealing all thoughts. Then I feel his hips grinding against me again, and it feels incredible. His weight shifts slightly as he changes the speed and rhythm to suit his needs, and I pull away from his lips as a moan erupts from my throat. His fingers are back in my hair, pulling and massaging my scalp. I open my eyes and look at Harry, seeing the most erotic sight I’ve ever laid eyes on. His head is lolled to the side, and his lips are parted, as soft pants and moans pry themselves from his mouth. 

“So beautiful,” I whisper, not sure whether he hears me or not, and then suddenly I feel him shift. The delicious torture of his hips causes a sweeping wave of pleasure to ride through me, and in an attempt to maintain some semblance of control, I slip my hands underneath the elastic of the panties he’s wearing, and grip his firm, soft cheeks. A gasp from him tells me it was unexpected, but he hasn’t stopped grinding against me, or told me to move my hands, so I assume it’s safe. 

“Draco,” he whines, “I’m going to come.”

“Harry, are you sure you want that?” I strain to ask the question, but I know it’s necessary.

“Oh, Gods, yes!”

“No regrets?” I ask, knowing that this might go south in the aftermath. But for now, I don’t care. I can only feel as though he’s cut my brain off from the rest of my body. 

“No regrets, Draco. Oh fuck!” He moans louder and louder, pulling me closer with him. I take hold of his neck, sucking and trailing my tongue along the creamy flesh. He tastes so good, like ice cream on a hot day. I feel my grip tightening around him, as jolts of ecstatic warmth spread through my body. “Feels so good.”

“Draco, coming!” he shouts with hitched breath, and arches. Hearing my name from his lips makes my own body begin to tremble beneath him, and he notices. 

“Harry, stop, please,” I ask, not wanting to take advantage. I feel like if I let go, it will change things, and I don’t want to change things. He seems so comfortable with me now. 

“Please, finish. Come for me, Draco,” he pleads, and I can’t ignore it. He continues to grind into me, even after he’s finished. It doesn’t take long, not when his tongue is urging me to continue. Everything becomes a blur; one moment I am sitting on the couch with Harry on top of me, grinding into me like a wanton bitch, and then everything changes. My whole body shudders, and I feel my warm come sliding against my cock. Everything seems unclear, but soon reality settles over me. Harry is in my lap, caressing my cheek gently. His fingers are warm and soft. For a moment, I wish we could stay like this forever. I am too sentimental already. I didn’t expect things to go this far so soon, and I don’t want him to be angry about it. He said no regrets, but what if… I don’t have time to finish that thought when Harry speaks, tearing my insecurity from my chest.

“Draco?”

“Mm?”

“You all right?”

“Yeah, just a little, surprised.”

“Truthfully? Me too,” he says with a smirk.

“No regrets?” I ask him again, trying to appease my own uncertainty. 

“No regrets,” he states with a smile, “But do you happen to have any clothes I can borrow?”

I can’t help but laugh. Oddly enough, I do have some clothes in the office. I have been known to sleep on the couch after late nights, so I always keep some extras here, just in case. I am thankful this time, because there is actually some use for them. 

“I do actually. I think we both need some.” He is still looking at me with a smile, and I can’t help but admire the sight of him above me. “I can’t get them with you on top of me, though.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he says as his face begins to flush.

I collect some clothes - extra underwear, a shirt and some pants - for us both, and hand a set of them over to him. It’s a good thing we are about the same size, even if he’s shorter. He stumbles towards the bathroom, and closes the door slightly, but it doesn’t shut, and I hear as he peels away each layer of clothing. Part of me wants to watch him, but I know he probably isn’t that comfortable. It’s sad, we’ve just gotten one another off, and here I am worried about whether he will care if I peek while he changes. I hear the toilet flush, and the taps turn as water blasts into the sink. After a few more moments, he exits with the boxer briefs I handed him and the ribbed tank. It hugs him like a close friend he hasn’t seen in ages, and I can’t help but admire the bulge at the front of the briefs. He fills them nicely. His eyes are barely open, and I notice he’s still stumbling a little. All traces of him portraying a female are gone, and I have to admit, I like him much better this way. 

“Go sit. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He doesn’t protest, and I leave the door open. I am oddly comfortable with Harry here, and set about cleaning myself up. I strip the skirt and blouse, tossing the bra in the corner, and take a much-needed piss. I feel a lot better once I am in familiar clothes. The alcohol is still very active in me, but I don’t care. When I see Harry lying comfortably on the sofa, I move closer, feeling the urge to tease him a little. 

“And where am I going to sit?”

He opens his arms, and shifts as close to the back as possible. I accept his invitation, and lay down with his arms wrapped around me. “I think you should stay here, you had a lot to drink,” I say, knowing that I, too, had quite a bit to drink.

“Mm, ’kay.”

It isn’t long before he is asleep, and there is a knock on my office door. I un-wind myself from Harry’s body, and answer the door, hoping he doesn’t wake. It’s Lavender; apparently it’s after four in the morning and everyone has already gone. 

I locate my keys quickly, and go lock up, satisfied with the thought that Harry is here, with me. After all the rounds, making sure the doors are locked, and all the staff have gone, I head back upstairs. The windows allow enough light in that I don’t have to turn any on to see my way around. I lay my keys on my desk, and fish the blanket from the bathroom closet. I start to sit down in one of the chairs, but I hear Harry mumbling.

“Draco, come back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, just want to hold you.” His voice is horribly slurred and sleepy, but it’s cute. His hair is falling into his eyes, but he looks peaceful. I wonder if he is awake or not, but I cover him and slowly climb on the couch with him. He shifts just enough, wrapping his arms around me, and I feel good here. 

It doesn’t take long, and I am asleep. 

In the morning, I wake up with a horrible headache, and the weight of someone’s arms wrapped around me. I realise I am on the couch of my office, and slowly open my eyes. “Oh shit!” Harry is here, Harry is holding me, and I am holding him… his morning erection is pressed against mine, and slowly his eyes flutter open. 

“Draco?”


	11. I Think, Therefore I am

Chapter 11: I Think, Therefore I Am  
Harry’s POV – Sunday

 

None of the blazing warmth of the August sun in North Carolina compares to the safe and tangible embrace which surrounds me. Soft, yet hard, arms hold me tight, making me feel comfort and ease like I’ve never known. Disappointment begins to swell within, and I wonder if I am imagining these sensations. Am I here? Is this real? I have never felt like this – so distracted and content – before. It’s as though the world revolves solely around this moment, and I can’t seem to discern whether it’s real or not. Somewhere in the darkness, I can feel pressure, but it isn’t horrible. Not like the beating in my head, the never ending throbbing that seems to consume me. Silence. Only the soft inhale and exhale of me and someone else seems to penetrate my senses. It isn’t a moment I care to release too soon, but in the seemingly impenetrable silence, I hear a gasp, and a familiar voice, “Oh shit!” The tone of his voice is slightly tense, and in the haze of alcohol and sleep, I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. 

Everything seems muted, at least until I begin to feel the soft shivers of heated desire course through my veins. I feel fingers tense and adjust against my back, and the weight of a body moving above me. Firm fingers shift and pull at the shirt I’m wearing, but not in the way I might expect. It’s as if they are creeping away slowly, afraid of something, but I can’t place why fear might be cornering me. I already feel my back pressed firmly against a soft sofa, with an even softer blanket of human flesh and woven threads above and around me. The pungent odour of stale alcohol assaults my senses, and vague recollections of the previous night become clear. Short, vivid flashes worm their way through the pounding in my head, and a hard, protruding truth seems to adhere to my morning erection. Slowly I open my eyes, trying to adjust to the light I feel burning through my eyelids, and see a vision of soft elegance.

“Draco?”

Wide, grey eyes stare at me with disbelief. I can see the cogs and wheels moving, assessing the situation. The sharpness of my headache does nothing for the blunt arousal I feel at the moment. No regrets. I stand by my reasoning, I don’t have any regrets, but by the look of astonishment and confusion on Dragon’s face, he thinks I might.

“Draco? You all right?” 

He pulls away slightly, wrinkling his nose. It’s as though he can’t tell if he’s coming or going. I have never seen anyone as articulate as him nearly choking on whatever words are ready to spill forth. The corners of his mouth creep into a smile, and he raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but your breath is repugnant.”

“Oh? Is that all?” I say and realise there is a bathroom, and I vaguely remember a toothbrush in a canister on the countertop. I think two things must happen: the first, I need to roll over him to get to the bathroom, and the second, I need to brush my teeth. 

He shifts again, giving me the perfect opportunity to lift my body from the couch. He gasps when I rise above him, supporting myself with shaky arms and carefully dipping my groin to his. I know it is a risky move, but it is important to show, rather than tell him how I am feeling. Honestly, I am confused by my own actions, but I will not deny that they were enjoyable. Another soft gasp and I manoeuvre off the couch. Draco’s eyes are still wide, but I don’t understand why. Looks like I will have to smooth the feathers of this rankled peacock upon my return. 

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, as though anything above a whisper would be sacrilege. 

“To clean my repugnant teeth. Stay put, I’ll only be a minute.”

“You are not about to use my toothbrush!” I can hear the petulant child within rearing its head, and it brings a smile to my face. If I could see him from here, I imagine arms would be crossed over his chest and face screwed up with indignation. 

“Yes, I am. I’ll buy you a new one,” I say from the sink. A twist of the tap brings the water to life, and I splash a little on my face, privately praising the Gods for the beautiful simplicity of the clear, tasteless liquid. I feel a little more awake now, and reach for the standard tools for cleaning teeth. He has Crest, cinnamon flavoured toothpaste, which makes me smile. I use the same brand. The tube is nearly full, so I assume he hasn’t used it for some time, or doesn’t use it often. 

“You’re wasting water,” I hear from behind me, and turn to look at the tall blond. I feel a moment of jealously as I see his hair still flat and smooth, unlike mine, which is everywhere. That is nothing new, but it’s still slightly irritating to think that he can go to sleep and wake up looking as good as ever. I pause as I brush my teeth, and offer a foamy smile to my companion.

“Do you really care?” I muffle around the bristled implement. 

“No,” he says with a shrug, “Just thought it would be fun to comment on your habits.”

“Thanks,” I say, and roll my eyes. Like my habits mean anything. At least I care about cleaning my teeth in the morning. Hygiene is slightly important. After brushing my tongue thoroughly, I spit, swish some water in my mouth and spit again. I find it strange that I don’t mind him standing behind me, and watching as I go about a normal personal routine. The only thing that I am not sure I can achieve with him standing in the doorframe is taking a piss. After depositing the toothbrush in the canister, I turn and offer him a smile, while slightly closing the door. He backs away briefly, taking the hint, and I am grateful for that small favour. After a momentarily strain with my steady erection, I finally make headway. With a quick shake, I wash my hands. For a moment, I have to survey myself in the mirror, really looking at what, - no, who, - I am. I stare at the too-green eyes and the messy black hair, remembering how it felt when Ginny used to ruffle the mop in attempts to tame it. I don’t know why I still think about her. It’s been three weeks, and my only solace was one damn phone call and a muffled, teary apology. How could she do this? But then again, had this not happened, could I have been here last night? Would I have stayed here with Draco, waking up with him after such an intimate encounter?

“Hurry up!” Draco calls from the office and I smirk, feeling somehow closer to him. The distance between us is still palpable, but it doesn’t feel like an end. Truthfully, I don’t want an end. If this were to end, I would be back at square one, with nothing to look forward to, or even face desire. At least I can say that being around Dragon has awakened something in me, whether it’s just curiosity, or something else, I can’t be sure. All I know is, I can at least appreciate his company, for now. I have to be honest with myself, and him, otherwise things could become difficult. If his sudden change in temperament has any bearing on possible consequences, I think we are in for a bumpy ride. I can hear his sighs from the other side of the door, deep, irritated ones that may turn into growls, or even worse, whines. I don’t like whining, and I have a feeling that the mighty Dragon can easily stamp his foot, and get his way. Metaphorically speaking, that is. In reality, I imagine Draco to be a very possessive, dominant man, although he hasn’t been that way with me thus far. I am still evaluating everything, but I am enjoying the ride, even if it is drunken, slurred, and slightly neurotic for the time being. I hear one more huff from behind the dark brown door, and know my time is up. If I take any longer, he will burst through, regardless of my state. I look at myself one more time, seeing rested, sad eyes, a worn expression with a glint of hope, and a sense of peace that hasn’t haunted me since I left the Dursleys for college.

“I’m coming!” I call back, feeling slightly invigorated. I slept well last night, even if my head is threatening to split in half. He’s impatient, but I wonder if that is just because I have effectively invaded his domain, his dominion, as it were. This is his place, and I am the outsider. 

“Yeah, heard that last night, now hurry up,” Draco moaned again from the other side of the door. His tone is playful, but a hint of tension weighs heavily in the soft timbre that tickles my ears. He’s worried… 

“Prat,” I say as I leave, feeling much better now that my erection has faded, even if his hasn’t. He doesn’t even close the door, and I feel a slight shudder as the absence of comfort makes itself known. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable, but it still seems to haunt me. Taking a seat on the couch, I finger the clothes I wore last night nervously. A tawdry, pleated mini-skirt with green, silver, and black plaid rests just beneath my fingertips. The material is thin, just barely enough to cover the lower half of the human body. I wonder why anyone would want to wear something like this, but to each their own. I still don’t know how I ended up wearing it. Last night, Katie was eager to help me dress for this event, and Severus seemed inclined to assist me as well. Now I understand his suggestion for the schoolgirl look. I complemented Draco in every way, and now, I wonder if that was the only reason we had chemistry last night. 

This is where I am. This is who I am. Maybe? 

Confusion is a simple part of my life, making it complicated and hollow. Strangely, I feel like Scheherazade coming to the end of her tales, feeling the life drain from me, before I can reach out and touch the wonders of living. I don’t know if I should feel this way, but I do. Finally the toilet flushes, water runs, and with a long, groaning stretch, Draco emerges from the loo, victorious. My attention is captivated by the slow rise of his shirt, revealing barely any hair beneath the soft, thick fabric. I notice for the first time that we are practically identical in the garments we slept in. Both of us are wearing white, ribbed tanks and low, hip baring boxer briefs, his pale grey, and mine black. I find it amusing how I don’t care that these might not be new, although I think they are. I can’t see Dragon, Draco, keeping anything used in his office.

“Feel better?” I ask, feeling the slight of his usually demure presence. 

He shrugs, confidently striding towards the couch and taking a seat with haughty airs. I begin to wonder who the hell he is, where the changes came from, but he gives me the answers before I can ask. I feel the one thousand and one nights ending with his new attitude. This is the man I met Monday, not the one I snogged Wednesday. 

“Last night…” he starts, “What happened?”

“Weren’t you there?” I ask, feeling slightly annoyed, but reining it in. I can’t start this off like Ginny’s tepid affection after an argument. Soft touches that always became empty after fingers, lips, and words became boring. Who was I fooling? Ginny left me a long time ago, she just spent time sleeping in our bed. Maybe that’s why I am not so broken up about the true loss of her in my life – so many months of travel that always landed her in my arms, only to argue over something, make up and argue again the next time she returned – because I wonder how long I really had her to begin with. If shaking the blond would make him understand, I would. Yes, I was there, and I enjoyed it far more than I probably should have. 

“Were you?” he accuses, as if I am too ignorant to understand. 

“What, exactly, is the problem?” I ask. I have never had this kind of interrogation before. Did he suddenly become self-conscious? What happened between now and last night that brought on this change? I thought I made myself clear. 

“Nothing,” he lies. I may be naïve at times, but his darting eyes and shifting fingers tell me he is covering the truth, and I will get to the bottom of it. There is no reason for him to lie.

“Look, Draco,” I say, sitting forward and turning towards him, locking on his silvery eyes, “No regrets means just that. I didn’t wake up this morning and forget everything that happened. If that is the stance you want to take, fine, but I kind of like this.”

His eyes become like saucers, and some of the arrogant tension seems to fade.

“How do you feel about this, I mean, us?” Draco asks with a softer tone. I don’t mind that I am getting ready to answer the same question a second time. I assume that it’s his nerves driving him to the brink of repetition. 

“To be brutally honest?”

“Yes.”

“As far as an us is concerned, I don’t know. However, I know that last night was brilliant. If you can accept that I will need to take things slowly, then maybe there can be an us. But this is all new to me, Draco. You can’t expect bloody miracles overnight,” I say matter-of-factly. 

“I understand,” he says, dropping his head. It’s as though his hands are more fascinating than the conversation.

“Do you?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Draco?”

He looks up at me with a tender smile. I can’t say I have ever seen lips curve like that before, lines pulled taut and teasing the edges of his mouth. I can admit I enjoy kissing him, I can admit small things, but I don’t know what he expects. “What do you want?”

He looks stunned for a moment and the smile returns. “You. When you are willing.”

“How much?”

“Everything.”

“Such a simple request,” I joke, trying to lighten his mood. 

“No, not simple. But one I’m willing to wait for.”

“That’s good to hear.”

I lean back on the couch, feeling slightly relieved that the tension seems to be over for now. I can respect his honesty, but will I ever be able to give him what he wants? I don’t even want to think about what giving myself to Draco means. I mean, last night was fine in a drunken haze, but what about sober? Shit. I don’t think I would do that sober, at least, not now. There is still so much to take into account, we hardly know each other. 

Draco is still perching on the edge of the sofa, and then the inevitable, embarrassing situation occurs. My stomach growls, rolling loudly and uncomfortably, defiant at my lack of attention, and the blond begins to laugh with mirth. 

“Hungry?”

“Am I that obvious?” I ask, returning his smile. “Maybe I should go. A shower and shave would be nice.”

“Are you coming back this evening?”

“Yeah, last night of research,” I say, waving my hand in the air. “I’m actually going to miss coming by. It’s been a lot of fun.”

“Yeah. Why don’t you come back around seven-thirty? I’ll get us some takeout, and we can talk some.”

“Sounds good,” I say, standing up and looking for my keys. “Hey, uhh, where are my keys?”

“On my desk. I moved your stuff before I lay back down.”

“Thanks.” 

I start to put the too-tight blouse back on, and he laughs. “What?”

“You aren’t seriously going to wear that stuff home?” he asks and stands, walking towards a table. “Here, they should fit, and if they don’t, well, you are only driving home.”

He hands me a pair of soft jeans and a t-shirt. Oddly enough, they are the right size, but the legs are far too long. I refuse to put those penny loafers back on, so I will just have to drive home with no shoes, even if it is against the law. I mean, how many officers are going to check my feet? I can’t remember the last time I was stopped by an officer; I’m not too concerned with the possibility, however remote. I dress quickly, leaving the tank on underneath the black t-shirt; I think I might sleep a little more when I get home. 

“Thanks for everything,” I say, and he stands.

“My pleasure,” he replies with a soft smile. 

I stop in front of him, unsure what will happen next. This is always awkward, that morning after the first night with someone new. Will he want a kiss? Should I kiss him? Maybe I should, he seems to need a lot of reassurance, and if that’s all I can offer to the pale blond, then so be it. His lips are still curled upwards, and before the silence can continue, I lean in with my eyes closed, and take the plunge over the cliff. Uncertain what lies at the bottom, I am greeted by eager lips and tongue, enjoying the sensations that well within me. Kissing Ginny was never like this. 

We finally pull away, and a soft blush has risen on his cheeks. “See you at seven-thirty,” I say, and head out. 

Once home, alone with my thoughts, I shower, shave and get some more rest. I am going to need all the energy I can get for tomorrow; auditions are never fun, and Gods only know what kind of men will show up. 

When I wake, it’s ten minutes to seven. I hurry out of bed, dress and mess with my hair a bit before leaving. When I arrive at the club, Draco is waiting by the door for me. He reaches out with his hand, leading me this time. In his office, there is an array of finger foods, most I have never seen before. 

“What is all this?”

“A little bit of everything,” he says. “I didn’t know what you liked.”

“Well, this is brilliant!”

“Thank you.”

For hours, we sit together, munching on the various foods, some English, some American or Asian. He feeds me bits he assures me are delicious, playfully licking the excess from my lips, and generally keeping contact me with me. I don’t mind it at all. I can see he is courting me, trying to get to the bottom of who I am, but he isn’t quite sure where to start. He asks a lot of questions, some I can answer, and some I can’t. In turn, he answers some, and declines to answer others in favour of lighter, more universal subjects.

I have learned that he likes Asian cinema, food, décor – practically everything Asian. He claims to read and write some Japanese, and feeling the need to challenge his boast, I ask for a display, in which he slowly draws out the symbols for ‘Dragon’ and ‘Phoenix’.

“Neat,” I say looking at the symbols. They are so complex, making no sense to me outside of the assurance that they do in fact read, ‘Dragon’ and ‘Phoenix’. 

He hasn’t asked about dancing, and for once, I don’t mind. I am content, sitting with him in the same place that our relationship became more than just two men. Now I don’t know what we are, but it’s not just two men. As the time passes quickly, Draco eventually takes my hand in his, caressing the ridges of my fingers and palm softly. 

“It’s getting late,” I say finally, not wanting to leave. “It’s an early day for me, and Gods forbid I am late. Severus will skin me alive.”

Draco merely nods, offering me a weak smile. His change makes my heart jump slightly; I like knowing that he will at least miss me a little. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. 

With a soft kiss, I bid him goodnight and head home. When I get there, I lie down, not falling asleep for a long time, evaluating things between Draco and me. It is going to be a long road, but I think it is one I can travel. I am thinking about a lot of things, so maybe, just maybe, I think I am getting a little bit closer to who I am.


	12. Auditions

Chapter 12: Auditions  
Harry’s POV – Monday

 

Morning comes faster than I want it to. The night wasn’t long enough, my time with Draco wasn’t long enough, and now I am back to the intense grind of the world of stage. The morning sun has barely begun to stretch across the horizon as I make my way downstairs. I don’t bother to dress nicely; I would rather be comfortable, than confined by stiff collared shirts, and slacks. Severus can deal with my jeans and t-shirt. I have nothing to prove to him within those walls, only to myself. I can do this; even if I am afraid, I can do this. 

As a matter of principle, I mentally prepare myself for the good and bad as far as auditions go. There will always be good mixed in with the bad, and I have to be prepared for anything. This is serious, I will most likely be asked to join quite a few of these guys on stage to run through some lines, and Gods only know if I will allow myself to be sucked into their technique. I try not to think about it too much; if anyone ever accuses me of being shallow, it is because I am inside the theatre. When I am on stage, I take my part very seriously. 

The garage is chilly this morning. My breath catches in the air like icy puffs and slowly fades, but only until my next exhale. It’s oddly soothing the way Mother Nature can calm without touching. I guess She really is touching, though, her breath ghosting against my skin in this darkened tunnel. An enclosed car park, glorified and dedicated to the ornate, often absurd vehicles that my neighbours drive. Wealth seems to be the norm, but I am not part of this norm. Even the Dursleys aren’t wealthy. They are middle-class, barely worth mentioning in the social circles that Ginny used to force me to interact with on a regular basis. 

Ginny.

I dedicate my drive to the theatre to my past. Long, winding memories of the fights, the loving whispers in the night, and my most current losses, weigh heavily against my psyche. Even with the devastation I feel, I can’t make myself regret the way things are going. I can’t make myself forget the past week even if I should, and I can’t make myself feel guilty for the small pleasures. Though why I should, I don’t know. Maybe Draco is right. Maybe living in the memories of Ginny is just going to tear me apart rather than redeem me. 

Before I know it, the theatre marquee is on my right. The large black letters display the auditions times and date, for today, twenty-sixth of September. There is a line of men already waiting outside, many of them holding monologues, or folders containing their portfolios no doubt. I am a little uneasy now that I am presented with the prospect of dealing with so many today. There must be at least one hundred and fifty men of various shapes, sizes, and races waiting to be admitted into the best theatre in the city. I hope I can sneak by them without getting accosted. Some of the faces are familiar; men who have auditioned for other roles and been turned down in the past. I park and hurry to the doors since I still have ten minutes before Severus sacks me. He doesn’t know how hard it is to wake up after such a night, hell, after such a week. My dreams called me, the heat of lust making me pant one name heavily. After a good wank, I felt better, but the desire has not faded. Part of me wishes that Draco will be here, watching me, giving me the boost I need. He seems to capture my attention more than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of people. 

Some of the men mumble superficial greetings, while others smile with fervour, attempting to capture my attention. I pay them no mind as I slide towards the gold-rimmed doors, knocking loudly until Theodore Nott, the stage manager, opens it for me.

“Severus isn’t in a great mood, you’d better hurry,” he says, before I can even say hello. 

“Right. Thanks, Theo,” I say hurriedly, and head to the front of house.

Most Potente Productions houses a proscenium stage. A wonderful, flat surface that often reminds me of a picture frame the way the walls square around the black, rubbery planks. Inside the frame is the story actors tell, while the audience sits and watches, hopefully rapt. This theatre isn’t especially remarkable; rather the frame of the stage is basic, with little adornment. There are ornate waves that reach out to the patrons of the theatre, but outside of that, there is nothing to make this theatre memorable. 

I personally like thrust stages; they allow us to interact with the audience, giving them a reason to be excited about their world becoming one of love and sadness, or the thrill of a good battle for the honour of some damsel in distress. I also like the way we enter the stage: from beneath, from the audience, a revolving stage… you name it and we probably use it as a way to get on a thrust stage. 

My light step comes to an abrupt halt as I see Severus glaring at me. I haven’t been here long enough for this shit.

“You’re late!” he says with a never-ending sting.

“Am not,” I say and check my watch. “It’s just now eight.” Severus looks ragged, his hair isn’t gleaming with its typical lustre and he looks paler than usual. Remus must have kept him up late last night, although I’ve never pictured Severus being awake past ten o’clock for some reason. He strikes me as the kind who falls asleep early every night, and wakes up extra early, ready to greet the day with all the nastiness that only he can muster. 

“Get over here,” he growls.

I immediately go to him, wondering what the hell the problem is. He’s never this stressed before the start of a play, or at auditions.

“How many are out there?”

“A good few. We will be here a while. What am I doing?”

“You will help determine who makes call backs. I only want ten names, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, taking the clipboard he is offering. 

“Theo said they started lining up at seven. Most of them have already handed in their forms, so all we have to do is wait for him to get back with the copies and we can get started.”

I am familiar enough with this drill by now; I don’t know why he is being so precise. I take a seat, preparing to be here for quite some time. Time seems to creep by in the early morning hours and before long, voices echo into the empty room. Theo leads them all to the left side of the theatre, and many of them have begun to quieten down considerably. 

Theo nods to Severus and takes his seat beside me. I look over the youthful and nervous faces, seeing one that is familiar. Feeling my chest contract tightly, the urge to turn away quickly begins to make my muscles twitch. Just when the need to flee becomes more powerful, he waves madly. It’s sick how giddy he looks, I can’t believe he recognises me. His ginger hair is so obvious amidst the many blonds and brunets. I nod curtly, and look to Severus.

“What’s the matter?” Severus asks. He doesn’t look too happy with my silent pleas, but I don’t care.

“Call me Phoenix. Please?” I hate begging, but Severus is leaving me no choice in the matter. I feel trapped. Being here suddenly makes me wish I were anywhere else and the overwhelming desire to leave, never to return, sits at the front of my thoughts. Anywhere but here, anywhere… I wonder why I am dealing with this, I don’t know why I am putting myself through this. Why take a role that I know is beyond my level of skill? Why take a role that creates more complications than solutions in my life? I can’t believe I have been this foolish, making myself believe that the actions I take will be easy. Every action has an equal or opposite re-action. I’m a damned fool. I am deluding myself if I think that Severus will understand. I can always explain during lunch, if he lets me live long enough. I want him to call me anything but Harry Potter in this moment; I close my eyes briefly, collecting myself before I offer a silent prayer to whatever deities are listening, and make my plea. 

“What for?” If Severus could look anymore upset or formidable, it is in this moment. His beady eyes stare back at me with masked contempt. I worry that he won’t help me, that he won’t trust me

“Severus, please!” I insist, knowing that if I don’t play my part that it will only cause more trouble. Severus’ opinion about the change of address doesn’t bother me. My only goal is to protect me from the advances of Ginny’s brother. If he only knew who I am, he wouldn’t be waving at the way he is right now. What would he do? I wonder what Ginny has told her family about us and why she went home. Did she tell them what she did? Maybe this new bloke actually met her mum and dad, because I sure as hell didn’t. I guess after six years I wasn’t good enough to meet Mr and Mrs Weasley – maybe I wasn’t rich enough for them or her – even if they did work out of the state much of the time. The only ones I ever met were Ron, but that’s because he and Hermione are married, and the twins. Ginger and Spice, the two from Dragon’s club, Ginny’s twin brothers, who also work for the family business. I met them once, but I have a feeling they would remember me as Harry.

“Fine,” he grimaces. At this point, I don’t care what he thinks. Bill Weasley is not going to make this uncomfortable for me; this is my domain, and he is the one who doesn’t belong. 

Severus stands to greet the crowd of nervous and eager men with his usual intimidating scowl. This is how he picks the serious actors from the ones who are here to pick up dates; the man is famous for tossing out anyone who isn’t willing to take their role seriously. The voices quieten as the master turns to face the novices. 

“We begin now. Do keep your mouths closed while your peers perform their monologues. Every abysmal performance must be considered, therefore I demand cooperation. I’m Severus Snape, the director of this production,” – he turns and points to Theo and I – “This is Phoenix, he is the lead, and beside him is Theodore, my stage manager. We will only choose ten of you for call backs, so take this seriously. Questions?”

No one moves. Their eyes sparkle with what seems to be admiration and fear, but I try to remain impassive. They have no idea what they are in for working with Severus. He’s a task master. His job is to the find the talent within the actor; mould it, shape it to the role, and then tear you down emotionally. If you can pass the emotional test, he will nurture the talents you have and show you all the ways to make them work for you, rather than you working for them. 

“Good. Theo?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies. Theo knows his job well. When Severus says jump, he is to always ask how high and for how long. There is no question that Theo does his job well, or else he wouldn’t have lasted so long. His looks are obviously very deceiving, because he tends to make most people wrinkle their face with distaste, as if they expect him to smell foul even though they aren’t close enough to detect any scents. He elicits the usual reaction from a few, less-trained people and begins with his practised drawl. “When I call your name, you will go on stage, perform your piece and take your seat. We will post the call back list after lunch. First up is Ar-rgus Filch?”

I look at the copy of the form Theo handed me and read through the tilted scrawl with difficulty. He’s fifty-six years old, and he plans to do a monologue from The Producers. This should be interesting. If Severus can glower at him the entire time, I will eat asparagus for the rest of my life – I hate asparagus – so this better be worth it. 

A tall man with thinning, greasy hair ascends the stage. He was slightly hunched over, and obviously too old to be in this production. There are only five roles to fill, what will he be, a random drunk? That’s what he looks like. He clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot nervously, and finally begins, “I'm drowning! I'm drowning here! I'm going down for the last time! I...I see my whole life flashing before my eyes! I see a weathered old farm house. And a white picket fence... I'm running through fields of alfalfa with my collie, Rex -- Rex, stop it! -- I see my mother, standing in the back porch in a worn but clean gingham gown. And she's calling out to me...’Alvin! Don't forget your chores! The wood needs a-cordin' and the cows need a-milkin'! Alvin! Alvin! Al—‘ Wait a minute, my name's not Alvin. That's not my life!”

He takes a deep breath, still shifting back and forth, and begins again. “No, my life is a joke. Working nine to five at the damn school, cleaning up after those stupid kids… I hate them. I wish I could still take a paddle to their asses -”

Theo finally interrupts him, knowing that he’s gone off on a tangent. Aside from the extremely slow drawl that he adopted to recite his piece, I have to give him credit. He remembers a lot more than more practised men. 

“Mr Filch, that’s enough, thank you.”

“Oh, OK,” the man says and stumbles down the stairs. He doesn’t seem too hurt by the news, so I am sure he at least expected it. I’m impressed he got that far in the piece, to be honest. I didn’t expect him to do that well but as it happens; Severus’ lip did twitch with amusement as the man left the stage. I have a feeling this is going to be a long day. There are a few snickers from the men to my left, but I ignore it, and write a big X on the top right hand corner. Sorry, Argus, you just aren’t cut out for this play. Not to mention I don’t think anyone in their right mind would want to kiss you. 

The first fifty or so men go by quickly, and I’m ready to step out and take a smoke. A cigarette seems like a great respite from this mess, except I don’t smoke. I can only imagine how the ashes would fall aimlessly from the burning tip, wasting someone’s money. Not mine, though. This fella, Justin Finch-Fletchley, just broke down in the middle of his monologue. He claims on his form that he will be reciting on a monologue from Macbeth, but he starts Hamlet, and then about thirty seconds in, becomes a dancing teapot, performing the song that goes along with it. Nerves are a horrible thing in theatre; but if used properly, they can be an advantage. For example, I use my nerves to augment the emotions, becoming more involved in that character. I spend as much time as possible becoming my character; if the audience believes me for three hours, then my job is done. 

“Cedric Diggory,” Theo calls out. I look at the form as the young man walks to the stage. His shoulders are squared, his chin high and confident. It’s a nice change to see someone who at least has the confidence to get in front of us and look like an idiot. When I used to audition, I always picked something opposite of who I really am. It shows skill, rather than complacence, with the art.

This Cedric fellow is what I would call pretty. His face is chiselled finely, but there is a softness about it. Light brown hair rests atop his head, and a well built frame supports his confident pose on the stage. He looks promising.

“Most people are fortunate enough not to know when they are going to die.” He pauses to laugh briefly. His speech is fast, but it’s effective. His face reflects dark humour, the kind of morbid fascination only one faced with death can have, I suppose. He delivers the lines with perfect ease and there is no strain outside of that which is intended. It’s brilliant.

“The Grim Reaper just pops up one day to say 'hey', and the next thing ya' know, your heart's exploded inside your chest. Bang! Didn't even see it coming. Man, that would be cool. None a this 'you've got seven years to live' shit. As soon as some asshole tells ya' somethin' like that, you immediately begin to count down backwards. Seven years, six years, five years, four, three two one! Bang! Next thing ya' know, you're getting horny over a coupla' naked angels. Christ! People my age don't understand what I'm feeling. Most twenty year olds feel like they're gonna' live forever. You think you have your whole life planned out. School, work, marriage, kids, two cars, a house and a dog. Things don't always work out that way. So much for the American fuckin' dream.”

Cedric Diggory stands with a sad, haunting expression. The lines he spoke were cynical, but there is something deeper in his eyes. I think it’s the vacant expression that fills his eyes. It’s like silence. He’s drawn me in, so I give him the go ahead. He’s good in my book. Most of these guys have never been involved in real theatre before, so seeing Cedric is like a breath of fresh air. It only took seventy-five men to audition before I chose one. 

Another twenty down. By now I am tired of hearing the same old stuff, always falling short of the true passion needed for theatre. The whole point is to allow the audience to experience something new, or relive moments of their own life, or just enjoy good music. I mean, this isn’t a film; it’s something new every time the actors step on stage. The emotions are variable, and as you learn how the audience reacts, you perfect the show just for them. That is the reason I do this, no more, no less. If I were a lesser man, I might just be a prick and randomly pick ten men, but I only have eight names and I refuse to sell this production short because I hate the process. 

“Bill Weasley,” Theo calls out to the men who are murmuring to one another. And now Severus turns to look at me. I offer him a nod, communicating my reasons for not allowing, well, begging him not to say my name.

The ginger-haired man stands and swaggers to the stage. As much as I hate to admit it, Bill seems confident. He starts slowly, nervously, but I assume that’s the character. 

“Okay... Where to start. Let's see. Okay. Ya' know... There is a lot of pressure on vampires these days. I mean, the media has built us up to be monsters... Okay, if your definition of a monster is someone who sucks other people's blood... Alright, ya' got me there. But do you know the kind of peer pressure that is within the,” –he makes quotes with his fingers – “culture of vampires. I mean, give me a break... Gloom and doom and black and cobwebs and coffins all over the place...” 

I stop listening at some point and realise he is done. I am so tired of hearing this drivel. Bill spoke so fast I barely understood him, but I look at both Severus and Theo to see their “thoughts.” Both are scribbling some notes about him and I know in that moment that my fate is sealed. I will end up snogging Bill-fucking-Weasley on stage, and the thought makes me cringe. Not only is he the male version of Ginny, looks wise, only less softened like a female, but he’s a prick if anything Ginny ever said is the truth. He’s a playboy, always looking for the next biggest thing, or the best thing to lay down for him. God, I hope they are using some type of protection, who knows what kind of diseases he has ravaging his body. And I will have to kiss that. I don’t want to, but I am used to not getting what I want, so this will be nothing new.

There are about ten more men that go, I’ve lost track now. I am irritated beyond measure, though. I scribble Kingsley’s name since he is the only African-American to actually audition, and then some other bloke named Krum. He is stocky, but good-looking. He has the eyebrows of a primate, at least that’s what I think he looks like. His eyebrow ridge is very prominent, making him look angry no matter what his face actually says. I wonder what role he will be placed in, because I noticed that Severus scribbled his name down too. 

Only three more auditions and we can head to lunch. I am just ready to get out of here before Bill can catch me and strike up a conversation. I would much rather be eaten alive by piranhas than face his obvious advances. Not to mention I have no idea how he will react when he figures out who I am. It’s only a matter of time before he does, but I want to be ready.

As Theo begins to address everyone for lunch, I feel my cell phone vibrate. I discreetly check the message, wondering who would need to text me.

There is a photo of a silver Mercedes and the message from Dragon says, How about lunch? Find me.

I smile despite my best efforts to resist. I just catch Theo telling everyone that we will meet back here at one o’clock. I check the time, it’s half past eleven. I have plenty of time to enjoy a nice lunch with my dragon.

“Harry?” Theo says. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for like five minutes, man. What’s up?” 

“Oh, nothing, Theo. Look, tell Severus I’ll be back here by one o’clock, OK? I’m going to grab some lunch.”

“All right. Give me your papers before you leave.”

“Right,” I say, handing Theo all my papers. Bill Weasley is not on my list and I can only hope that he isn’t on their list as well. I know he is, but I can’t help being slightly irritated with that knowledge. Bill Weasley… Ron and Hermione are the only Weasleys I want to deal with. 

I leave quickly, before Bill can catch up with me. I can’t believe he came to see the auditions. I wonder if that means he will stay for the call backs as well. When I make it into the cool September day, I look around, trying desperately to find the car in the photo. I am more excited then I should be, but I don’t care. It is a nice surprise for him to be here. I didn’t expect it, but I never expect anything from people anymore, so maybe that’s why it’s so nice.

I look around a bit more and finally see his car. The gleaming silver paint and his blond hair in the driver’s seat call to me, so I run, knocking on the window. He turns and offers the sexiest smile I have ever seen. He waves me inside and like a child at Christmas, I open the door and take a seat.

He starts to say something, but I stop him cold, capturing his lips. The familiar warmth and softness of his mouth pressed against mine is divine. Only when I realise how ridiculous I am being do I pull away. He looks surprised, but not in an unpleasant way and that’s a good thing. 

“Well hello to you too,” he says with those silver eyes gleaming at me.

“Sorry,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

“Don’t be. That was a nice greeting,” he says. The smile is still curling his lips. “Where do you want to eat?”

“Anywhere,” I say. I don’t care. I’m not hungry, not really. 

“OK. What time do you need to be back by?”

“One.”

He puts the car in gear and we are off. I feel giddy and it’s a nice distraction from thinking about Weasleys. At least now I have something to look forward to; his being here means so much more than I can express. 

*****

Back at the theatre, I meet Severus inside. All of the hopeful actors are crowding around a sheet of paper and many walk away dejected. Before long, there are ten men standing next to Severus and Theo, and I wait in the back of the crowd. 

“This way,” Severus says, and we move back inside the theatre.

Once inside, the ten men huddle close together, except Bill, he keeps trying to get closer to me. I wish he would take a hint. 

“Po – Phoenix, you and Mr Weasley take the script books and turn to act two, scene three,” Severus says. I offer him a glare in response for nearly saying my name, but what am I to do? I didn’t communicate with him before this started and it’s my own fault. 

I take the book that Theo is holding out to me and turn to the pages, and of course, it’s a kissing scene. Jesus, I knew that this was coming, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Severus must really be ready to get these auditions over with if he wants to see the results of my tutelage so soon. He only has to pick five of them. Please don’t let one of them be Bill. My prayer is silent, and I don’t care what Gods hear me, but there has to be some justice in the world. I can’t do this…

Bill takes the lead quickly. The lines are said faster than I want them, and suddenly his face is in mine. My heart hammers against my ribs in fear, and I want to scream. I want this to end, but before I can do anything, before I can run, his heavy hands are wrapped around me. I feel closed in, tight. His lips press against mine, they are so rough, not like Draco’s at all. He slips his tongue in my mouth, a large, very wet tongue, pressing in deeper and deeper, trying to devour me. He smells like garlic, and clove cigarettes. My stomach is weak, and all I can think about is how I am going to get away. His tongue continues to lash at me, tasting me, taking away Draco’s flavour.

My head pounds, my palms are sweaty, and his stubble-spattered chin scrapes against mine. His skin is rough, not soft, or softly scented. Not like Draco’s. And in the madness of my mind, I finally hear the one word that saves my life.

“Scene!”

My body is trembling when Bill finally releases me from his brute-like grip. I hate him already.

“Same scene, Po – Phoenix and Baker, Ryan Baker.”

Dear Christ, I think the man is mad. This guy is bigger than Bill, if such a thing is possible. His chest is broad and I smell his overbearing aftershave like noxious fumes. We begin, and I breeze through the lines, still feeling shaken. His kiss isn’t nearly as horrid as Bill’s, but it still isn’t Draco. The hands are all wrong, the smell is all wrong! Severus can finish this without me; this is too much right now. Severus ends the scene, mercifully short, and I pull away. Nodding to Baker, I back away and have a brief word with Severus about leaving. He reminds me to be back here at eight in the morning and I nod, hurrying away. 

As soon as I am in the open, I take the deep breaths that have been clawing to get out since Bill put his hands on me. All I want to do is escape this hell. 

I drive home in a daze, sitting down on the couch and nodding off. Eventually I wake to my phone vibrating and a short message that says, Thanks for lunch.

It brings a smile to my face, but I can’t shake the irritation. Either Severus is completely dense or he just wants to torture me. Either way, I am not happy about this situation. My entire being is being topped with the shredded indignity of discomfort. Sitting up on the sofa, I look out the darkened windows and debate on visiting Draco. I saw him once already, but I miss the comfort I feel with him. Maybe seeing him would be a good thing for me, especially since I am having such trouble wrapping my mind around Bill. He’s Ginny’s brother! What happens when he starts asking questions? What happens when he figures out who I am and that I am the one she left four weeks ago?


	13. Seeking Solutions

Chapter 13: Seeking Solutions  
Draco’s POV – Wednesday – 28 September 2005

 

“'Allo?”

“Ms Delacour?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Dragon. I was told to contact you about finding employees.”

“Yes, I can 'elp you. What kind of position are you 'iring for?”

“Management.”

“And what iz zee salary?”

“Fifteen dollars an hour and two days off per week.”

“Insurance?”

“No.”

“401(k)?”

“No, nothing. It’s just temporary, but it could become permanent. I own the club and I need someone to manage it. What’s so hard about that?”

“Sir, we have to know what you want to offer zee employee. I am not conducting zee Spanish Inquisition.”

“Just set it up as ‘no benefit package’ and I will increase the hourly rate to twenty dollars an hour.”

“OK, we can do zis. We will search through the system and see what we can find. I can make a promise there will be at least two by Monday.”

“That’s good to know. Thank you, Ms Delacour.”

“You’re welcome. Good day, sir.” 

*****

I find myself standing outside the club earlier in the morning than usual. Last time I was here before eight o’clock, I’d never left. Harry and I had spent the night in my office after an evening of… progression? Did we move ahead in our relationship at that point? Now I am here waiting for a man named Dawlish to show. I am glad that I told Ms Delacour that I didn’t care if they posted my contact information for potential employees. I have two meetings today, and depending on how they go, I could have a new manager for the club. I am slightly afraid of letting my empire fall into someone else’s hands. It’s scary to think that there is someone who might think they can run my club better than me. If I say I am happy about letting someone take the reins, I would be lying, but if I want to spend more time with Harry, this is necessary. Even if things don’t work out with him, I can pay the wages to the temporary management and go back to business as usual. 

I check the time: eight o’clock exactly. Dawlish should have been here by now. I wonder what is taking him so long. I’ve been here for nearly twenty minutes, just in case he arrived early. Now I am more than irritated at his lack of punctuality. This goes to show that if you want something done properly, do it yourself. If I wanted to wait on someone constantly, I would have children. I expect whoever I hire to be on time, and making me wait at an interview is not a good idea. I don’t like to be kept waiting, and if this Dawlish wants to make a point, he better have a damn good excuse for his lack of concern for employment. 

I unlock the front doors as the chill wind begins to peck at my skin, thinking that stepping inside might take the bite away. As soon as the tumblers shift, I hear the sounds of an old car pulling down the driveway. Loud knocking sounds emanate from the rolling piece of junk. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the machine is simply a radio attached to wheels. How the mass of metal still rolls, I have no idea. The car is long and dents riddle the sides. It has an old chrome bumper, which I always thought of as American vehicles at their finest. They are like tanks, all of them. The metal has now been replaced mainly by plastic and other materials. I can see inside the car, and do not like the picture that this man paints. The seats are covered with trash and debris that I assume has some place in the man’s life. The machine manoeuvres into a parking place with all the belts underneath the hood squealing like chocolate-addicted toddlers. After a rough stop the dark, golden-brown paint reflects brightly into my eyes. There is a man behind the wheel with short brown hair and bushy eyebrows. I’m not sure what to expect from him, but I am so far not impressed by his dilatory arrival. 

He fumbles in the seat for a moment before opening the creaky door of his car and getting out. He’s tall, a bit taller than me, but that doesn’t bother me. It’s his clothes that bother me. He’s wearing a rumpled suit with a half ironed shirt, and the pants don’t match the blazer. What’s this guy’s problem?

“Mr Dragon?”

“Yes,” I reply, looking him over with disdain. I am ashamed to admit his CV made me want to meet him. I know just by looking at him that he will not be a good choice for my club. I suppose I should wait to make my final decision until after I’ve met the other candidate, it’s only fair. 

He extends his large hand and grips mine with force, nearly crushing my delicate offering within his. “It’s good to meet you. You know, word is you have the best club in town. I think it would be an honour to work for you.”

“That’s nice to hear, Mr Dawlish. Tell me, are you aware of the type of club this is?”

“It’s one of those fetish places, right?”

“No, this is a gay club.”

His face drops. His eyes briefly become like saucers before he regains his composure and then sputters, “How nice.” He attempts a compliment, but I can tell there is animosity hidden beneath the surface. 

“Have you ever worked for a nightclub before, Mr Dawlish?”

“No, sir, but I worked on a cruise ship for about three years.”

“Tell me about that,” I say, feigning interest.

“I hired, trained and supervised a staff of over twenty. I had one assistant and managed three corporate credit cards,” he continues, but I am curious about something he said, so I stop him.

“What kind of activities did you hire for? Was it family oriented or other?”

“Most of it was family oriented,” he says, but by his tone, he is wondering why I am asking such a question.

“Do you think you could organise events for the gay and lesbian population?” I ask. 

“I can organise events for all populations. I don’t think it should matter what their sexual preference is.”

“Right, but I need to know if you are uncomfortable with that aspect of the position.”

“No, not necessarily. I am a hard worker, no matter what the job entails.”

He looks uncomfortable, which could just be nerves. I am not sure I like the idea of someone who isn’t sensitive to the population my club serves. I don’t care if he is gay or not, but I do care if he can keep personal opinions to himself. My customers are very loyal to me, and they would leave in a heartbeat if they felt like I hired someone who wasn’t sympathetic to their situation. I created this haven because for too long, I watched as other gay and lesbians groups tried to form and quickly fell apart due to poor decisions. At least here, there is no leader. I am in charge, but they lead their own evening however they see fit, and I, for one, feel there is nothing wrong with that. Granted, I do have to answer to the authorities should something happen, but nothing has, yet. I pull the door open and step in. “Let me show you around.” I’m glad I turned on the breaker before he got here. It would be dark and slightly uncomfortable for me and him any other way. 

“Wow,” he exclaims. “This is impressive.”

“Thank you. Right this way, Dawlish.”

I lead him to the dance floor and point out the bar, and then show him to the balcony; while we stand up there, I take the opportunity to ask a few more questions. Getting to know him as a potential employee is, after all, the reason behind the interview.

“Why aren’t you working for the cruise line anymore?”

“Living six months at sea was starting to become cumbersome for my personal interests.”

“I see. And what do you feel will be your duties here at Dragon’s Tail?”

“I assume general supervision of all full-time and part-time staff, while maintaining accurate records, planning special events, delegating tasks and scheduling staff for events.”

“The position deals with most of that, yes. There is also the matter of opening and closing the club every night, and keeping accurate financial records. I personally fund this place, so I want all records of where money came in and left the building, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, you would be responsible for obtaining permissions for music that we play, as well as setting up the drag shows, negotiating contracts with performers, and making sure that alcohol permits are up to date.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“It is, but well worth it. Once all of the preliminary preparations are made, everything runs itself. I don’t want events that require more than an hour’s involvement. All of the staff work on rotating schedules that they are pleased with, so I don’t plan to change them anytime soon. We have a very relaxed atmosphere here. Rules are guidelines in my establishment and are subject to interpretation. The only exceptions to the ‘guideline stipulation’ are rules about money, alcohol, and any problems that may arise resulting in legal ramifications.”

“When would I start?”

“Immediately.”

“Do you have any other applicants?”

“One other. I will be meeting with them shortly.”

“Great. This is really an exceptional club.”

“Thank you. Do you have any other questions?”

“No. I think you answered everything for me.”

“Well, Mr Dawlish, I have some paperwork to complete. I will be in touch with you, and thank you for coming.”

“No, thank you, sir.”

I watch as Dawlish leaves the club; his haughty steps take him to the rolling piece-of-junk he calls a car. The crash of the door echoes through the empty building and for the first time in ages, I feel like I have just wasted my time. Dawlish will not be on the top of my list. Nymphadora Tonks should be arriving shortly, although I have no idea what to expect. Her name is gaudy. I hope that it does not reflect on her personality at all. I drift off in thought as I wait for her arrival. We are to meet at ten o’clock and it’s only a quarter past nine. 

*****

His lips taste of apples and grapes. I wonder if he knows I can taste him so well, or if he even cares. He looks good in a t-shirt and jeans, so much more laid back than when he’s dressed in slacks. He always looks good, though, at least to me, anyway. Harry doesn’t seem to do well with suits and ties, all of the stuffed shirt bravado that I am used to dealing with. Instead, he seems content in the most comfortable thing he can find, regardless of how he looks in it. I must say that I admire his tenacity. I wonder how Severus deals with his laissez-faire attitude towards most things. Does Harry even know that he irritates the people around him? Not that I mind at all. A free spirit is much more interesting than one bound by rules and obligations. I think that is why I like Harry so much. He doesn’t care for the standards of others; instead, he chooses his own path and takes it without the consequences in mind. At least, from what I have seen, he’s not banal like everyone else. 

“How are auditions going?” I ask. He looks flustered and I don’t know if that is the kiss, or how things are going inside the theatre. Not that I mind him kissing me; no, I quite like his initiative. I hope that this only means we are going somewhere. I am not looking forward to whatever this thing we have ending. 

“All right, I guess. There are a lot of men auditioning.”

“I saw. What happens after lunch?”

“Severus will post the list of the ten actors we chose. Most likely we will have to run a few scenes and then he will have Theo call the final choices later this evening.”

“Interesting. It’s like a long job interview then?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He chuckles. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah? I thought I would pop in. I hate to admit it, but I missed you after you left last night.”

I look at him briefly and see the faint traces of red in his cheeks. I have to admit, I like seeing him blush. It lets me know that something I said elicited some reaction from him. 

“Er, where are we going?”

“A little place I know around the corner. I hope you like French.”

“Haven’t had much, to be honest.”

“Well, I think you’ll like Ollivanders. Simple and elegant.”

“How about you order for me? I like just about anything,” Harry replies. 

I don’t mind taking the reins, especially if he’s going to offer. “I like the way your lips taste,” I say before I can stop the words. We pull into the parking lot and I look at him, waiting for rejection. My heartbeat increases a little bit more each time he breathes out. 

“You know how taste tests are, though,” he says with a grin. “Try it more than once before you formulate an opinion.”

And with that, he leans forward, kissing me again. I give with him, into him, needing to experience more. Our tongues wrestle, and he lets me lead, even though he took the initiative. Everything feels so frenzied and alive, my own taste buds coming to life the more green apples and grapes I taste. He catches me off guard, sucking my tongue playfully and before I know it, I have wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more. And then I taste more… cinnamon, sugar and the faintest hint of coffee. I break the kiss, but only to whet my appetite for more of his skin, trailing my tongue down his neck, and then his weight is pressing into me. He crosses the console, knees bending, and hitting everything in their path. His shoes tap against the dash, changing the track number on the CD, and without warning his lips crash against mine again. No longer at an awkward angle, his legs part over mine, settling the debate about taste tests. Just like the first time we kissed, I am hungry for more… But at the time, I don’t know if he is as well. Now that we are back in the same position as Saturday night, only in my car, I can see he is being true to his word – no regrets – and it feels good. I don’t mind this position at all, and the way he tastes and smells makes me ache...The purity of the moment ends when I hear the click of the door and it springs open. Harry loses his balance and tumbles from my lap. He lands on the pavement with a strangled grunt and I jump out to help him up. 

“You all right?”

“Yeah, I think so. Oww,” he says. “That’s never happened before.” He is laughing before I can brush off the stray rock, and with a quick kiss, we walk to Ollivanders. 

*****

I hear the door open below and then a voice spreads throughout the empty club.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, up here. Be down in just a second,” I call back. I check my watch. Nymphadora is early. It’s only quarter to ten and here she is, already bouncing with energy and expectations. She’s young, or at least not much older than me, I can tell that by looking at her. Her hair is bright pink, worse than some of the awful polo shirts the guys who come into the club wear. She has a bright, friendly smile, and I can’t help but wonder what brought her here. Why does she want this job? However garish it seems, the colour is appropriate and would fit in well at the club. At least the rest of her clothing is fairly normal. Her blouse matches the colour of her hair, bright, bubble-gum pink. At least that is the only name I can call it. She has a black blazer of fine twill over the blouse and a pair of black pants that flare at the ankles, with power heels to finish off the look of “taking charge”. So far, I am impressed, even if the colour of her hair is a little unsettling. 

I will give her a chance, but only because Severus recommends her. Her resume is brilliant. She’s worked with planning Pride parades, and even managed a smaller nightclub some years ago. She has also has worked for a coliseum, so she knows about negotiating and how to handle contracts. Before I get to the main floor, I realise I have seen her before. She’s been here before, she’s danced with women and men alike, and people seem to flock to her. 

“I’m Dragon, it’s nice to see you,” I say, extending my hand to the vibrant woman.

“Tonks, Nymphadora, or just Dora. How do you do?”

“I’m well, and you? I take it that it wasn’t hard to find the place?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been here before.”

“Excellent. Tell me about yourself, Dora.” I adopt the use of the shorter name she gave, because I want her to feel comfortable with me. 

“Professionally I am seeking something new to throw myself into. I have worked in a nightclub before and loved it, so I thought I would give it another shot. I have worked in the public sector for about three years now, and I don’t like it. I’m ready for new challenges and I think this would be the perfect start. Personally, I want to open my own business, but I need a little more experience before I begin the process,” she says confidently.

“Right this way, Dora. I want to show you around.”

I immediately regret taking her to the balcony. Dora has only been in the building for twenty-minutes and she has already tripped up the stairs, and nearly taken me down with her. I am afraid she will break one of the heels she’s wearing, so I take her up to the DJ booth and show her around. I’m slightly worried that she will always be this clumsy, but between her previous experience and recommendation, I can’t pass on the opportunity to hire her. We have a talk regarding duties, which amazingly enough, she is already very familiar, so I don’t have to explain every detail. It seems this young lady has done her homework and I can only be thankful for that. 

Through her explanations of past and present situations, I am confident that she will make a good choice for the position. In fact, if she is willing and able, tonight would be a perfect time to give her a test run. It’s amateur drag night, and usually pretty tense around here; it will be the perfect time to test her abilities. 

“Dora, how would you like to come back tonight around ten-thirty and show me what you can do?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I am impressed thus far and I would like to see how the patrons react to you.”

“This is exciting! Thank you, Dragon. I won’t let you down,” she says with excitement. Her cheeks have become nearly as bright as her hair, but I don’t find it to show any weakness, just the excitement that acceptance and approval garner. 

“I will meet you here then,” I say and extend my hand. The deal is sealed for now; we can make everything official this evening. It’s a good thing I had a solicitor draw up the necessary employment contract, now all I have to do is wait. Tonight will be the perfect time to tell Harry about this new development. This means I can spend more time with him, but also stop taking on the sole burden of running this place. 

*****

My cell phone chimes incessantly until I finally answer it. Whoever is calling better have a good reason for waking me up, I’ve only slept about three hours. When I finally wrestle the phone from my pocket, I see it isn’t a call, but a text message from Harry that says, Dinner. My place. 7:30

Does he know something? He can’t know already. I wonder if he’s just taking a chance. I type a quick reply, assuring him I wouldn’t miss it. Now I can’t remember if I know where he lives, but before I make a fool of myself, one last message comes in, 12 Parkwood Court- 10 A

My hero. 

Time seems to crawl as I wait for seven-thirty to arrive. I set my alarm and try to go back to sleep, but no such luck. It’s been one of those days, but I feel confident that seeing Harry will make all of that change. Around six o’clock, I start getting ready for this date with Harry. I choose a loose button-down shirt, black, and a pair of black pants. I do like looking good for him, and I hope he appreciates the extra care I take to moisten my skin and shave. 

The clock ticks by, but I just leave a little early. I can’t imagine him being upset because I arrive early. Besides, it gives me time to see this flat he isn’t willing to give up just yet. I am a little nervous; I don’t want to come across a bunch of old photos with him and his ex, that will be awkward. I can’t imagine him taking to explaining everything about the photo and then looking at me, seeing how little I truly care for the story. It isn’t because I don’t want to hear about him, but obviously this person hurt him, even if he’s doing a good job at hiding behind the truth. Maybe he just doesn’t want her to be the evil ex-girlfriend. I grab a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen before checking my appearance in the mirror in the entrance. I am completely satisfied with my look and mockingly flash a smile in the at my reflection before pressing the button to the elevator. 

I head out, as a flutter unlike any I have felt in years rises in my stomach. I keep having all of these youthful emotions that I thought I would never experience again. But everything with Harry is a contradiction. One minute I am full of lust and the next… the next there is an ache unlike I have ever felt with another man, let alone person. I won’t say it’s love; I haven’t known him long enough to love him, but I feel drawn to him like no other person. It’s so very strange to find myself this entangled with him. It’s so strange to think that a week in his life makes me want to get inside his brain and swim around, soaking up as much about him as possible. 

The drive to his building is quick, I could have walked, but I chose to drive. His building is nice, although as I walk inside and see the decorations, all the gold and burgundy, I find it slightly hard on the eyes. I can only hope that his flat isn’t this kitschy. I have to admit that the Van Gogh in the elevator is a nice touch. It seems to soften the gold and red that surrounds everything else. I press the button for the tenth floor and the gates close noisily. The machine rattles loudly and finally it lurches to a stop. The old gates crash open and I step into the hallway. It is further decorated in gold and burgundy, but I don’t want to assume the worst about Harry’s choice in living arrangements. 

His door is just down the hall and I sigh heavily before knocking. Three light raps against the door, and I hear him call from the other side of the only obstacle between us. “Be right there!”

I fidget nervously, picking at my nails as I wait more than five fluttering heartbeats for the door to open. I have no time to be nervous anymore as the lock clicks and the door swings open to reveal my host. 

“Hey! Glad you could make it,” he says with a big grin. He leans in, kissing me lightly on the lips, before turning and heading back inside the apartment. “Well come on! Dinner’s almost ready.”

I follow him to the kitchen, looking around. He has pots and pans everywhere. The stove is on, and as I glance about, Harry’s hanging half out of the refrigerator with a large knife in one hand and an exquisite chocolate cake in the other. Once inside, I am really thankful that his entire apartment isn’t gold and burgundy…

“Wow. What are you making?”

“It’s a surprise,” he replies. The grin has become a smile, brilliant and so warm. I feel my own body reacting, smiling in return. 

“I brought some wine,” I say, looking around the room. 

“Oh, great! Glasses are in that cabinet,” he says and points to my left. I move to get the glasses, looking for a cork-screw. “In that drawer. How long do you have?”

“I have some things to take care of at ten-thirty, but I’m all yours until then.”

“Good.”

I watch as he puts the finishing touches on everything, pulling a large broiling pan from the oven. I smell lemon, basil and oregano. Thyme, cinnamon and white wine all mix together, causing my mouth to water shamelessly. Maybe it is Harry that makes my mouth nearly gush with saliva, but I don’t mind. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down with a nice stiff collar that fans out slightly, exposing his beautiful collarbones. 

“Cho is taking care of things. I called her right after I got your text.”

“Well that’s nice of her,” he says, moving towards me. He stops short and reaches for the loops on my pants. “Just lets me have you a little longer.” His lips press against mine softly, just like before, but I am not letting him get away so easily this time. I reach out and wrap him in my arms, savouring every taunt of his tongue. He quickly pulls away and whispers huskily, “Let’s eat. We have plenty of time.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Ah, much better, thanks.”

“Good.”

I offer him a weak smile, trying to hide my disappointment at him pulling away. He sets the table quickly, and I grab the glasses and the corkscrew. I pour the wine, setting each one before us and sit across beside him, where he has given me shelter. 

“How are rehearsals?”

“Oh, Gods! I think I owe Severus. He’s taken to using the Grotowski method for this play, and if he wasn’t married to Remie, I would kiss the man!”

“Remie? He lets you call him that?”

“Yeah, he’s never said anything about it. I can’t help it. He just reminds me of a pet, you know? I can’t believe he puts up with Severus.”

“No, I know what you mean. Tell me about this method, what about it makes you want to kiss Severus?”

“Well, the basic idea is we have to discover the masks that inhibit us from giving our best performance, so it’s a lot of ‘inner dialogue’, I guess. We spend most of the time not speaking unless we are reading lines. He says that it will allow us to get better acquainted with our characters. He spent most of the day looking at me, though. I got chewed out, but I’m not too worried about Severus. He knows I will play my part to the best of my ability.”

“And what masks are you wearing?”

“With you or in general?”

“Both.”

“In general, I guess I just wear a mask of indifference. I act like I don’t care about a lot of things. Makes disappointment easier to handle, I suppose. But with you, I don’t wear any,” he says, and looks at me intently. It’s almost like he wants my approval. How can I deny him that when he is giving me such honesty?

“To what do I owe that?”

“I like you. I told you, I think I like this more than I should. After reading through the play a few times, I think I have limited myself a bit. Not only in life, but relationships.”

“And you think that the play has helped you see that?”

“Yes.”

“What about it made you see the limitations?”

“Being with someone isn’t as black and white as their sex.”

“And you think that only the play showed you this?”

“No, because you helped.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are like a candy that I didn’t know existed. Now that I know it’s there, I don’t want to be without it, you know?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“I think we have enough time to figure out the kinks,” he says, dangling the fork from his lip suggestively. Does he know what he is doing to me? I have been half-hard through this entire meal. The moment his lips met mine, my prick ached with need and now he’s playing with his fork like it is my cock.

“You mean you actually want to figure out the kinks with me?”

“Well, if you don’t fancy me, then no, but if you do, then yes,” Harry says as he takes a large bite of his chicken. 

“Fancy you?” I ask. “I have fancied you since I laid eyes on you, Harry Potter. The moment you introduced yourself, I knew who you were. You didn’t think you were the only actor Severus ever sent to the club, do you?”

“Well, no, I guess not. Did you fancy them too?” he asks accusingly.

“No. I never even took the time to introduce myself. You are different. And I thank you for your honesty.” 

The meal is excellent, but I am glad he is clearing the plates. I start to get up, but he pushes me back in the chair and says, “Oh no you don’t. We still have dessert. I haven’t had you long enough.”

“Yes, sir!” I say, offering a salute. 

He brings two plates with large portions of chocolate cake. There is some warm fudge drizzled along the edges of the plate and I smell it. Each delicate drop of the liquid chocolate begins to swirl along the edge of my plate. I wonder how he did that, but it doesn’t matter. All I care about is the way his lips look as they wrap around the fluffy bits of cake. Crumbs begin to fall in his lap, but he ignores them. I take my own bite of the cake, but only as a distraction. I swear every move is deliberate, another way to entice me. 

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here,” he says with a devilish smile.

I stand and move towards him, but I have no idea what he wants. He’s going to have to do more than ask me to come closer.

“I want to touch you,” he says softly, never breaking eye contact.

I kneel in front of him and he parts his legs, allowing me to move in closer. I put my hands on his thighs, squeezing gently, drowning in the soft moans that erupt from his lips. 

“Maybe you want me to touch you?” I question.

“Yes,” he moans, and slowly I unbutton his shirt. Each strip of skin that is revealed I press a gentle kiss against it, feelings his body tremble beneath my own quivering lips. I know he isn’t ready for sex, but there are other things he might be ready to experience. 

His chest is fully exposed, and I push the shirt from his shoulders, trailing my hands along his skin with reverence. He’s like a temple, built for my worship. His skin ripples like Braille underneath my touch, and I take my time, exploring him, tasting him. He gives a throaty moan of delight when my mouth covers his nipple, swirling my tongue around the delicious, pert nub. Another gasp and I move to the other, experimenting, mapping each reaction. I pull away and look at him, feeling the need to clarify his desires.

“What do you want, Harry?” 

“Christ, anything! Just don’t stop, please!” 

“I’m not going to fuck you,” I state, hoping he understands. 

“No, but other things,” he returns shyly.

“Yes, other things.” I trail my fingers to the apex that is awaiting my hungry mouth. He moans again softly, exciting me more than I can imagine. My entire body feels like it’s going to tremble into pieces if I don’t get a grip. I steady my hands by running them up the insides of his thighs a few times, then working my way to the button and zip of his pants. He shifts a little as I pull at the band of his trousers, moving them over his hips. Black boxer briefs cover the hardness I have come to claim, and so far I am not disappointed. To tease, I place my lips against his rigid length and exhale. He moans softly, arching his hips into my mouth. Hungry for more, and ready to sate his own desires, I pull down the fabric of his briefs, revealing the treasure that I have been waiting for patiently. 

His cock is thick and long, begging for my attention. Without asking permission, I take the head in my mouth, tasting him fully. The tip is already salivating, and I savour each drop as it hits my tongue. Hungrily, I take him whole, lapping at the softly scented skin as it rubs against the back of my throat. His moans of approval are all I need to continue. When he fists my hair roughly, I work harder, forgetting about how good he tastes. A bit of salt with all the sweetness of his skin makes my mouth water more and I concentrate on giving him everything I have. With long, teasing swirls of my tongue, I play with the head, feeling each throb of excitement as it thrums through him. 

“So good,” he whimpers, pulling my hair harder. “Draco, that’s so good.”

And with the ease of unwrapping a Christmas present, he gives me my reward for a job well done. Each spurt of his essence delivers the kind of sweetness that I want to taste, always.

“You taste good,” I say, looking at his red cheeks and heavily rising and falling chest. “Care to try?”

“Kiss me,” he demands, pulling my lips to him, brutally arousing every feeling of want I have. 

He breaks away and pulls me to my feet, shoving me roughly against the wall. I don’t mind that my back has erupted with pain, it only adds to the excitement. With our lips still connected, he fumbles with my belt, pulling the tongue quickly from its resting place, and unbuttoning my pants. 

“Your turn,” he whispers, nibbling on my ear lobe. His tongue is like lava, burning me with each fiery pass on my skin. He roughly pushes my pants and briefs over my hips, but pulls away to look at me. It’s like he needs to see before touching, to believe that this is all for him. When he does finally touch me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. He isn’t exactly deft at his actions, but each slow stroke makes my toes curl within my shoes and then he says the most unexpected thing. “I’ve never wanted to feel anyone’s come as much as I do yours.”

I can’t help but moan in response. He twists me, strokes me and kisses me until I can’t take it anymore. With all of the teasing, fondling and general flirting that we have done, I now feel like we are past the point of no return. The fire within me boils and his words cut through me, sending me spiralling into the blissful abyss of my saviour’s hand. “Harry! Just like that, don’t stop.” Each moan feels like it’s going to erupt from my chest, but I allow it. 

His lips press against mine, his tongue a furious storm of want and so much more than my hormone-driven brain will allow me to comprehend. One final twist and I am gone. With a heady moan, I cry out, praising whatever Gods put this beautiful man in my life, and it’s over. All of the fire within becomes soft embers as he lazily strokes me. Every brush of his hand against me makes me quiver with the intensity. 

“Harry?” He looks at me with cloudy green eyes. He’s so tender in this moment, and I love it. Even with his nervous strokes, he makes me feel more alive than anyone else. 

“Mm?”

“Taste me.” And he does. He licks at his hand experimentally and I feel my cock jump at watching his tongue lap at my come. 

“Mmm, not so bad,” he says with a soft grin. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. It’s already ten.”

After getting cleaned up, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave him, not after everything. With brief, heated kisses, I depart. I want so much more, so much more than time allows, but at least I know for sure he wants to give us a shot. 

The drive to the club is lonely, but there is so much to look forward to now. Re-opening my world to someone new, someone who makes me feel alive, is the best feeling I have experienced in some time. Being with Harry makes me want to question, to explore. I hope that tomorrow greets me with more secrets, more packages to open. Before I step into the club, I send Harry a quick text, Sleep well, my pretty bird.


	14. Bonding

Chapter 14: Bonding  
Harry’s POV – Friday – 30 September 2005

 

Three heavy knocks land on my door as I begin to ring Draco. With the cursor over his name, I’m ready to press send and the knocks come again. I move to open the door, curious as to who is visiting at this hour. It’s barely eleven o’clock and I rarely have visitors. With a swift flick of my wrist, the locks are undone and I open the door. Ron and Hermione Weasley stare at me with sheepish, yet exuberant faces. 

“Surprise!” Hermione chirps loudly. Ron extends his hand to me, but in shock, I stare at them, wondering if they are real. 

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Ron asks.

I shuffle to the side of the doorway to allow them entrance and say, “Yes, come in. Sorry, I was on my way out. I didn’t expect you. Excuse me a moment, I need to make a call.” I walk into the living room, but they follow. No chance of privacy, and my familiarity with Draco nearly causes trouble. Ron watches me carefully, listening very intently to every word I say. I hate that he’s so damn nosy. Finally, I close my phone, feeling like I have let Draco down. 

“Who did you call?” Ron asks. I hope Draco isn’t offended. I didn’t mean to cancel our lunch, but I didn’t expect for Ron and Hermione to show up unannounced either.

“No one,” I reply, feeling defensive. It really isn’t any of Ron’s business who I call and I’ll thank him to remember that.

“Bet it was your boyfriend,” the redhead teases. He’s smiling, but I don’t like it. 

“Ron! Leave him alone!” Hermione huffs, and turns towards me rather than staring at her easily excited husband. 

“Shut up!” I look directly at Ron. He may be teasing, but I don’t like his insinuation. It’s not easy to deal with the way things are going. It’s just another bump in the road, another place for me to feel like I need to get away. I’m tired of feeling that way. I don’t want to always wear the masks that the stage allows me. I like Draco and I don’t see anything wrong with liking him. 

He stares at me for a moment, confused. The look on his face is very telling, when I turn away and hear him accuse, “It was your boyfriend! You bastard…”

“Ron!” Hermione warns him. “Leave him alone! This isn’t why we are here.”

“I will not leave him alone! He leaves Ginny for some guy, and you expect me not to be upset?”

“She left me, Ron! I bet she forgot to mention that. If you want to know what happened, ask her,” I retaliate. I am tired of Ron’s mouth already. Less than five minutes in my home and Ron’s already casting wild accusations at me.

“She won’t answer any questions,” Ron grumbles. He is famous for his cheek and backing down once he’s been caught in the middle of the wrong idea. Instead of standing still, he moves around the flat, surveying what remains intact after Ginny’s sudden departure from my life. 

“Well, I know little more than you, Ron. Unfortunately, she just packed up and left. I was going to propose to her, did you know that?”

He looks at me for a moment in disbelief, but casts his eyes to the floor. I am all too familiar with his expression of shame. As long as we have known one another, I think that by now he knows I am not a liar.

“No,” he says, looking to Hermione for comfort. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Sorry? Ron, your sister just up and left without a word. For a month, she’s been gone, and it wasn’t until after I found out I was fucking sick that she calls! Did you know she lost the baby?” As I am confronting Ron, I realise I haven’t talked about what happened with anyone. My limited knowledge has kept me from seeking answers, and now some lay before me, I am tempted to pick them up before they blow away in the foul wind of words and good intentions.

“She told Hermione.”

I feel my heart drop. How could Ginny tell Hermione about the baby, but not me? I am – was – the baby’s father. I am supposed to be the first to know these things. “Great, so she could tell Hermione, but not me? I’m better off without her if she’s going to act like this, Ron. I just got a new job and I am not going to ruin it for this shit,” I say, trying to control the urge to shout the venomous words that come to mind. I want to yell at Ron, but I can’t bring myself to it. The only elaboration needed is that I am in the dark about a great many things.

“Harry, you need to talk to her,” Hermione says, urging me with her motherly ways. I know she means well, but I can’t allow myself to become another fly in this web.

“She won’t answer my calls, Hermione. I have tried, believe me.”

“Then try harder!” Ron says with the kind of fervour only a defensive sibling can muster. It’s as though he wants to protect her honour, but doesn’t see she has no honour left to protect. She obviously has her reasons for leaving, even if I don’t know them. I have always been the last in her plans anyway, so I don’t find this scenario as odd as I should.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to drive up to your mum and dad’s and say, ‘Excuse me. Is Ginny Weasley home? Yeah, I’m Harry Potter, the bloke that knocked her up, and then she left for no fucking reason.’ Is that what you want, Ron?”

“No, but at least try to talk to her.”

“We’ve been through this. She won’t answer my calls. Right now, I have enough going on here. I don’t need to complicate things with Ginny coming back into the picture. Whatever happened, she slept with someone else, and the fact that she won’t talk to me about it pisses me off more. So you tell me how you would feel, Ron, if you wake up with a fever and the doctors tell you that you have herpes, and you know damn well you weren’t the one sleeping around!”

Ron looks at me as though he’s just swallowed a horny toad. His mouth and face scrunch, and about three shades of red decorate his face. He sputters for a moment, but Hermione wraps her arms around me comfortingly. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, love. Why didn’t you call sooner? You know we would have come down as soon as we heard.”

“I couldn’t. Right after I slept the fever off, Severus called me and he had a job. I’ve been working on research all week, and no, Dragon isn’t a boyfriend, but I like him, a lot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Harry. Ronald just doesn’t understand that human beings can connect regardless of gender.”

“To hell with that! I’m not letting someone stick their dick up my ass! What’s the matter with you, Harry? One day you are fucking Ginny, and the next you are screwing around with a guy?”

“I’m not shagging anyone, Ron. At least I know he has herpes and I don’t have to wait until I’m sick to find out! And he’s a hell of a lot less secretive than Ginny. I’ve only known him a few days, but I like what we have. Now, if I cancelled my lunch with him just to listen to you bitch at me all day, then you can leave. I will call you when I get the chance, but right now, you might as well just go.” I am angry. I am angry that I am in this situation, I am angry that I have to admit to these feelings, and I am mainly angry with myself. I don’t need Ron or Hermione’s approval or sympathy. None of their words of well meaning take away what happened and I for one don’t care to dwell on it. I am better off not thinking about it, because each time I have, the anger grows because I have no closure. I need to get away from this situation. I’ve only just come to terms with everything and my best mates are challenging me.

“We’re not leaving,” Hermione says adamantly to her husband. He looks at her with a murderous glare, but he nods his head in agreement. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured this to happen, Harry. Why don’t we get some lunch?” Hermione suggests. Always the peacemaker, she picks up right where we left off at Uni. Coming between Ron and I in an argument of some kind. 

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” I agree, hoping to take my mind off Ron’s intolerance. Ron stares at me with a strange expression and the longer I pace the room, the heavier the silence grows. The tension seems to grow the longer the silence remains, but I can’t do anything. I can throw my friends out, but I’ve been alone long enough and I don’t want them to leave. Talking to them might actually shed some light on my recent feelings, or at least allow me to understand things a little bit better. Ron must understand that I know less than he does about his sister’s rapid departure. I take a seat on the couch, feeling numb, but a little less angry. Maybe I need this…

“Wait, before we go. Harry, I’m sorry that this happened. I don’t know any more than you do. The season is about to start; I haven’t seen you in forever; can we just deal with this?” Ron is never good with emotions. They seem to fly out of him like curses from a truck driver’s mouth.

“Yeah, all right,” I start, “are you going to stop playing Mum and Dad?”

“It’s your life. If you want to run around with some guy, then that’s your decision.”

“And Ginny, what about her?”

“I suppose it’s not your fault. I mean, if she’s being tight-lipped, it must be because she wants to explain things to you first-”

“Oh yeah, like the baby?” I say, cutting him off.

“Harry, I don’t want to fight about this. Our flight leaves this evening around seven. Can’t we try to have a good visit?”

“I’m cool, Ron.” I offer him my best smile, even if deep down I feel like he’s only relenting because of Hermione. I turn to look at my old friend, wondering what is going through her mind. 

“Harry, I’m really sorry,” she says and gives me a big hug. I didn’t see a difference in her, but I definitely feel one. Her midsection is harder, less flat than I remember.

“Hermione, is there something you want to tell me?”

She releases me from her hold and smiles at Ron. The redhead blushes a bright crimson and I shrug. “What?”

“We’re having a baby!” Hermione squeals with excitement. 

“Congratulations, both of you. I’m really happy for you,” I offer with as much heart as I can muster. It isn’t much, but they both seem content with my congratulations. “Now, about lunch. Where would you like to go?”

“Know anywhere good?” Hermione asks with a cheeky grin.

“Of course,” I offer. “This is Scottsland; if you can’t get it here, someone will find it.” I wish death upon myself. It’s not that I mind seeing Ron and Hermione, but dealing with twenty-questions wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I am confident I understand Ron’s protectiveness of Ginny, but without the truth, she deserves no sympathy, least of all from me. If after six years she can’t tell me the truth, then I don’t want what she has to offer. Everyone seems content with her and her decisions, but I’m not.

*****

In the quiet of the theatre, I steer my thoughts back to the reason I am here. Draco is my present and possibly my future, but Ginny is my past. I just hope Ron and Bill aren’t close. The older Weasley is more antagonistic during rehearsals and that can only mean someone spoke to him. I check my watch; it’s barely noon and I’m waiting for the rest of the cast to show. This is the end of freedom as I know it. The Grotowski method is only the first of Severus’ many surprises, because tonight, we all move into a three-bedroom house that Remus owns on the edge of the city. It is there we will live until rehearsals end and the show opens to the public. The move begins today, and by this evening, six men will settle in one house, learning the nuances of our fellow actors, and making sure that we form a cohesive unit. Bill and I have to share a room since we are lovers in the play, as well as Kingsley and Krum, and Cedric and Montague. I’m not looking forward to imprisonment in such a small space with Bill for more than a few hours at a time. At least here in the theatre, we don’t speak unless we are running lines.

I hear a door close and then light footfalls down the aisle of the theatre. I hope it isn’t Bill. The last thing I need is to finally end up alone with him. His earlier advances-turned-scorn are not enjoyable. However, even I can admit that the intensity with which he feels every paradoxical emotion towards me makes the play even better. I opt to remain staring at the floor, sitting on the edge of the stage, with my feet dangling in the orchestra pit. Just being in this place centres me. The atmosphere, the energy, everything about the theatre calls to me. For a long time, I only wanted to be here because of the amount of hidden layers I could bathe myself in, but now, being here offers freedom. Being here is like being with Draco in its own way. With him, there is no need for masks, and I don’t plan on ever donning one for him. 

“You’re early,” a familiar voice says, pulling my thoughts away from Draco.

“Yeah, sitting at home gets boring.”

“Well do allow my theatre to amuse you, Potter,” Severus says with an ice-cold jab. His verbal sparring only gets better the longer he’s given the opportunity to speak. 

“I didn’t mean it that way, sir.”

“Then, pray tell, what did you mean?”

“I only mean that being here feels more at home than home.”

“I would say you have been living Grotowski for far too long, but I understand.”

“What exactly do you understand, sir?”

“This is not the place for bonding, Potter. You and Remus do that well enough without including me. Start stretching.”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus begins to leave, but he only takes a few steps and turns. “I want an explanation for Mr Weasley’s obvious scorn for you.”

“Ginny and I broke up.”

“I see. And I’m assuming he has just figured out who you are?”

“Well, either that or Ron told him. I met Bill once at Dragon’s place. He was there last Wednesday.”

“Indeed? And you spoke?”

“Briefly. I was in drag at the time,” I say, bending over to stretch my legs. 

“I need not remind you what will happen should you two fail to act like civil human beings. I used Grotowski to protect you, Potter. Don’t make me regret my decision,” he says coldly. 

I hate when Severus gets this way. He acts as though the world owes him something, and maybe the world does, but I sure as hell don’t. “No, sir. I am grateful for the opportunity.”

He doesn’t return my sentiments, but rather just looks around the pieces of the set that are already in place. It isn’t long before Viktor and Cedric enter the theatre, full of laughter. With one stern gaze from Severus, though, they are quiet. I wonder if Severus will ever allow me to see more than the hard exterior that he constructs so well. I can learn from him, I do learn from him, but he makes it damn hard to appreciate what he gives. At least Remus and I can meet each other halfway, conversing. The strength that both of them share isn’t easily denied and I envy them. Their freedom of expression and desire far exceeds my own, and I am slightly jealous, and just as I seem to get it figured out, something else comes along to upset my entire world. This time, the upset came in the form of Draco Malfoy, or Dragon, as I know him best. 

I’m still thinking about the other night. Being with Draco intimately wasn’t what I expected. Part of me believes I should feel wrong for it, but I don’t. I can’t bring myself to feel any shame over it, not really. Granted, I don’t think I am ready for much more than the touches, kisses and incredible blowjob that Draco gave me, but I’m willing to give things between us a shot. I am not naïve enough to believe that it will always be easy, but at the same time, part of me hopes that we can create our own world and not need the approval of anyone else. I imagine Bill is Draco when I run lines. I imagine feeling all these conflicting emotions and pour my heart into taming my wild feelings for the blond. I ask myself quite regularly if what he is offering is what I really want. There is sadness about him that I can’t place, something inside him that is festering, not easily seen. He allows me to see it and on some level, I think he’s offering it to me to take away. Is such a thing possible? 

The doors open again. I hear the dry squeak of the hinges and heavy footfalls against the carpet. I watch closely in the darkness as Kingsley emerges from the dim front of house. Theo appears from stage left to have a few words with Severus and is off again.

Bill still has yet to arrive, but his ability to arrive on time doesn’t bother me. I am tired of his smouldering gazes. He seems to have replaced his calf eyes with the kind of contemptuous stares that rival Snape. 

Nearly halfway through our warm-ups, Bill saunters through the doors, his face set in stone and his eyebrows furrowed. Another man comes in behind him, but I can barely see him in this light. His outline is tall and broad, and there is a mop of shaggy hair on his head. 

“These are closed rehearsals,” Severus projects.

Bill turns to face the man and they speak loudly. “Fenrir, you have to leave. The director doesn’t want anyone distracting the actors.”

“Fine,” the man, Fenrir, growls in response.

“I will meet you for dinner later,” Bill says and kisses the man quickly. The taller of the men leaves, and Weasley heads back towards the stage.

Severus stops the redhead before he can reach the stage and has a few words with him. I can only assume they are regarding his tardiness or the visitor that trailed behind him, but I don’t care. I’m just glad that we’ve spent the better part of three days running lines and that Severus always holds me long enough to let Bill leave. Soon the longhaired Weasley joins us. 

“Here are your keys to the house. Everyone should be settled by this evening, and I don’t want to hear any protests. We have a lot to do and if you aren’t prepared for this show, the benefactor will pull funds. There have been a few changes to our agenda at the benefactor’s request, so we will be flexible and allow it. First off, the show will not begin until November fourth. You will only have one full day off during rehearsals and that will be October fifteenth. There will be no parties, or anyone inside the house that isn’t a part of the production. These rules are not negotiable. Take your places!”

As a group, we all stand in a semi-circle, waiting for instructions. 

“Phoenix, name a mask you wear,” Severus demands. 

“Indifference.”

“Krum?”

“Happiness.”

“Weasley?”

“Understanding,” Bill mumbles.

“Kingsley?”

“Ignorance.”

“Diggory?”

“Straight man.”

“Montague?”

“Bravery.”

“How do these masks affect your performances? Weasley?”

“Pretending to understand where someone else is coming from isn’t the same as actually understanding,” he says, looking at me.

“And does that apply within this theatre?”

“Yes, sir,” he growls.

“Weasley and Phoenix, intimacy is a very important part of this production. If one of you doesn’t care and the other doesn’t understand, there will be no production. Learn how to deal with whatever barriers there are and rehearse act one, scene three.”

I resign myself to Severus’ instructions, but Bill seems to want to fight the whole way. Line after line of tension and detachment frustrates the director even more. I am at least trying, pouring as much emotion and realism into this scene as possible, but Bill refuses to cooperate. When he’s supposed to be soft, he’s hard, and vice versa. He doesn’t want to give in and worry settles inside me. Did he speak with Ron? Perhaps Ginny?

The scene goes well enough, but Severus still isn’t happy with our dynamic together. We are to watch as the others go through any scenes that don’t involve both of us, and as the submissive partner, Bill will hold me as a lover. Off to the side, I settle uncomfortably between his legs, feeling his bulk tense beneath my touch. He’s much bigger than I am, so I feel like I am sitting in a human chair. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that I am with Draco, feeling him wrapped around me, rather than Bill. 

His hard arms wrap around me, encircling my waist. He is rough, and the bulk of his forearms press into my ribs, making me highly uncomfortable. Every part of my body is tight, but I can’t hold this forever. I need to stop fighting, because eventually I will be tired, and sore. The longer I watch Krum and Kingsley together, and how seamlessly they seem to have fallen into their routine, I think about my role. I am not in control, even if I want to be. 

I am a submissive… I am a punk. I owe this man behind me. 

I slowly relax, placing my hands on Bill’s thighs, letting him acclimate to my touch. I feel myself slipping into Nat’s mentality; I need to do this to survive; I need this man behind me to protect me. Nat needs his protection. 

Bill relaxes a little, shifting his arms. He isn’t holding me simply because he has to now; he’s holding me because ‘Billy’ needs to control ‘Nat’. I slide my hands down the defined muscle of his thigh, touching, feeling and getting accustomed to his body. Bill does the same, only he caresses my arms. I am still a little tense, but much less now that I am ‘Nat’ and not Harry. His fingers harden on my arms, and even knowing that ‘Billy’ is a sadistic character doesn’t prepare me for his hand wrapping around my throat, demanding my obedience. I freeze with his sudden reciprocation and before I can move, his other hand wrenches my chin, turning my face towards his. This isn’t Bill… His lips press against mine, dominating me completely. It isn’t messy like our first kiss on stage; no, this is savage and full of animosity – the need to control and hurt. 

“Weasley, Phoenix! That’s enough!” Severus yells. His voice penetrates my trance and I look into his dark eyes. “That’s much better. I expect to see that kind of interaction from now on.”

With shaky legs, I stand, feeling drained. I don’t know how long Bill and I sat on the floor, but I feel like I’ve been through hell. I want to cry, but I’m happy because it’s over – because ‘Nat’ is free from ‘Billy’s’ domination – for now. 

“We will pick up here tomorrow. Bill, you and Phoenix will run the scene we started with today,” Severus says and leaves. I am on my own, but it doesn’t matter today, because Bill leaves without even looking at me. I look at the floor for a few moments, unsure of exactly what just happened. This is getting strange and I am not sure I am equipped to deal with this. I start to leave, but one of the other actors' voices calls out to me.

“Phoenix, wait up.” I turn and see Cedric smiling broadly. “We aren’t from around here and wanted to celebrate. Know any place good?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s a good club called Dragon’s Tail. It opens at nine. We could head over after getting settled at the house.”

“Sounds good. See you at the house, then.”

When I arrive at the house, I see that each door has our names on it and I knock on the one with Bill’s name and mine. No answer, so I push it open. There are things already arranged inside, and I put my things away quickly. Going out with Cedric and Krum will change the pace nicely, and I will get to know my fellow actors a little better. Part of me hates bonding with other actors, because some are eager to use your personal life against you, but then again, that is just people in general.

“Ready?” Krum asks, standing in the doorway of my new bedroom.

“Yeah.”

I don’t want to change clothes. I like the comfort of my jeans and t-shirt, and I don’t think Draco cares. I close the door behind me and make sure I have my keys before leaving with the two men. 

We stop to eat at Florean Fortescue’s for a quick bite and then head to the club. Cho waves us inside, but my favourite sight upon entry is my pale blond, standing outside the main dance area issuing orders to some woman with bubble-gum pink hair. She drops half the stack of papers she’s carrying and I can’t help but laugh when Draco drops his head slightly. It looks like he’s frustrated, and I feel bad for laughing. He turns around and once he realises who’s laughing, he smiles and walks to me with a determined swagger.

“Something funny, Phoenix?”

“Nope. Just enjoying the view.”

“Ah, well perhaps we can take the view somewhere a little more private?”

“I think that sounds good.”

“Follow me,” he says.

Draco goes behind the red curtain and leads us to the private rooms on the second floor of the tower. We settle in, and with a small call box, he orders drinks for us.

“This place is nice,” Cedric says, looking around. 

“Who’s your friend, Phoenix?” Krum asks, taking a seat.

“Oh, sorry, this is Dragon. This is his club.”

They all shake hands and I sit down, Dragon taking his place beside me. I don’t mind him taking the place beside me. In fact, after today, I need the comfort. 

“All right, look,” Cedric says and looks at me. “I know who you are, so why are you using a different name?”

“Personal reasons,” I reply, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

 

“Bill Weasley personal reasons?”

“Yeah…”

“I can’t believe you left Broadway, Potter. Why would you do that?”

“I was going to get married. But that’s long over,” I say.

“I didn’t know you were on Broadway,” Draco says, and looks at me with questioning eyes.

“Are you kidding? He won two Tonys,” Krum says. “Plucked straight out of college to play Raoul and before he got hurt, won his first Tony.”

“Two Tonys? Are you that good, Phoenix?”

I grin in response, raising an eyebrow. The innuendo is unmistakeable, and I love every moment of it. Being here with him makes me feel a lot better. 

“He’s one of the best,” Cedric says enthusiastically. “You should have seen him with Weasley today.”

“Oh, do tell.”

Krum and Cedric take turns telling Draco about what happened at the theatre today. He asks a lot of questions, but most of them about Bill and me in this play and finally, Viktor and Cedric leave us alone to go dance. Playfully, he straddles my lap and I melt under his kiss. His tongue is so soft, pressing me for more with each swipe. He tastes like alcohol and mints. I can already feel myself getting hard the longer our lips press against one another. I’m so hungry for what he is giving and with each sticky lick, I get closer to drowning in the intensity of us. 

“God damn you, Potter. You take something as simple as a kiss and make it a damn sport,” Draco says as he pulls away, panting.

“Can’t help it,” I reply with a smile. 

“So help me, Potter, if you are as good an actor as they say you are and you are only playing some part, I will make you regret it.”

“No masks, no regrets.” Kissing Draco is so easy, and without thought, I claim his mouth again. Nothing matters but this moment, where mint and alcohol mix to take away all thoughts, replacing them with feelings so simple that the future complexity of our relationship doesn’t bother me a bit. All the walls that I build up around myself come crashing down when I’m near him. Long, silky hair easily twines through my fingers and the moan that escapes his lips makes my insides flutter. How could I not want more from this?

“I don’t deserve this,” Draco says, burying his face in my neck.

“I could say the same thing, but from the look of things, we’ve both earned it.”

Draco is silent; his breath ghosts across my neck, sending little shivers down my spine. “I want to take you out. On a real date.”

“OK, I can do that.”

He sits up, looks at me, and asks, “Really?”

“Really,” I reply with a smile.

His stormy eyes seem so calm suddenly and I don’t want to stop staring, but the door opens and Cedric, Krum and Tonks file into the private room. 

“These two claim they are with you, sir,” Tonks says, pushing them both forward.

Cedric and Krum exchange looks of confusion. They look at Draco, asking a silent question of me, but I won’t answer. I didn’t expect them to end up back here so soon, and I wonder how much time has passed. 

“Yes, Dora, thank you. They are. They didn’t cause any trouble, did they?”

“No, just standing around the door and pushing buttons until I stopped them.”

“Actors!” he says, standing up. “Dora, I want to introduce you to Phoenix. He’s working on the play I told you about.”

“Oh, how lovely. I’m Dora Tonks,” she says, extending her hand to me. I’m slightly embarrassed because of my obvious erection, but I don’t have time to care.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, taking her petite hand.

“She is the new manager of Dragon’s Tail. Dora, Phoenix here is allowed to come and go as he pleases, but these two, they need to be accompanied by me when not in the main area of the club.”

“Yes, sir. Understood. Have a good night.”

The woman with pink hair leaves and I glance at Draco, wondering what the hell he means by manager. The edges of his pale, pink lips rise and he meets my gaze. His eyes seem to sparkle in this moment, and I feel like he’s making a statement. 

“That’s a hell of a sacrifice, Dragon.”

“I think you’re worth it.”

“Clearly,” I say, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “You hired someone just to spend more time with me?”

“Yes… Say you’ll come to my place for dinner tomorrow?” His eyes are begging me to accept, and despite the maelstrom of emotions I am feeling, I accept.

“All right.”

“What time are you finished with rehearsals?”

“Usually by six.”

“Let’s make it seven-thirty.”

“Not a word, you two!” I say, looking at Krum and Cedric. 

“It’s your life,” Cedric says, and they both shrug. 

“Harry?” Draco whispers. I look to him, and his eyes say so much, so many emotions running wild. “You look tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?”

I offer him a soft smile. “Of course.”

“How about a kiss for the road,” Viktor says playfully and I stand, shoving them out the door.

“Harry?” Draco asks again. I face him, feeling the weight of the day settle over me. “Such a pretty bird.” He caresses my cheek and like the bird he calls me, I lean into his feather light touches. “Sleep well.”

I don’t say anything; instead, I kiss him. It isn’t a gentle or soft kiss like the others; no, this kiss is one that makes my toes curl and him cling to me for more. I have never experienced something so raw. Everything with him is devastating, but so very fulfilling at the same time. I expect him to become the thorn in my side that Ginny is at any moment, but he continues to surprise me with his softness. Before I can close the door and forget all about going back to the house, I break away. His eyes are blazing with feeling and I don’t want to leave. 

“Goodnight,” I say and leave. I turn to look at him once before I descend the stairs to the entrance. I feel excited about dinner with him again. I also just want to get deeper into his mind, knowing what makes him tick. He’s a puzzle that I want to work out, and I no longer care what the rest of the world thinks about my newly found happiness.


	15. Burgeoning Disappointment

Chapter 15: Burgeoning Disappointment  
Harry’s POV – Saturday - 1 October 2005

 

The loud buzzing of the alarm clock on my cell phone rouses me from a sleep better left behind. Heavy thoughts and vivid torments lash out at my numb senses as I reach for my glasses. This is a feeling better left forgotten, but it keeps holding tight, no matter how hard I try to let it go. I sit up feeling broken, only there are no marks to indicate anything less than emotional struggles. I push the small frames against my face, and look around with forced clarity. White, textured walls become the focus of my sleep-laden eyes. Fan-like swirls lift from the wall as though a child discovered the new joys of puff-paint. I pop my neck before stretching the stiffness of sleep from my muscles. The small bed beneath me creaks slightly as I stand and take in my surroundings fully, for the first time. 

The room is spacious, with two beds, one against each far wall. Mine is on the left hand side of the room, and Bill’s is on the right hand side. Each of them is fitted with similar white sheets and duvets. The fabric is plain, but soft and the half-open curtains allow the morning sunlight to filter across the soft, blue carpet, making it look like the summer sky is pooling beneath my feet. Each cushiony thread creeps between my toes as I continue my examination of the room, taking in each simplistic detail it offers. A small table stands in front of the large window with an arrangement of silk flowers. A simple vase houses the artificial plants, and each wire stem casts a soft silhouette against the floor, only interrupted by my interfering feet. 

A black bag rests on the bed across from mine, empty of the body I expect. I can only assume Bill’s absence means he was with that Fenrir bloke. His not being here doesn’t bother me, though; in fact, I appreciate the silence that the room is offering. It’s seven forty-five in the morning, and all is quiet. The only sounds that seem to permeate this place are those of the wildlife outside, and my feet hitting the polished wooden floors of the hallway. This place is huge, like a small estate in the middle of nowhere. Trees surround the house and a long, winding driveway hides the semi-European style home from prying eyes. 

I ache from the stresses of the last few weeks. All of the excitement and disappointment is finally taking its toll, and I feel completely devoid of strength. Each new moment in this new world causes me to think harder than ever about what I really want from life. What do I want? Do I want what Draco and I have? Am I ready for a relationship so soon? I can only question my thoughts, my desires, because it’s been so long since I felt any of these emotions. Maybe being here with these other men will allow me to glean some sort of answers to these questions. I do want to work out the kinks with him, but I’m not ready for some things… I like the new experiences we have shared, a lot. I like kissing him and I like the comfort that I derive from being around him. I find myself wanting to learn more about him, and wanting to share more of myself, in return. I figure the consequences are of no concern to me right now, I want to solidify the strengthening bond I feel with him. Tonight… tonight, I will tell him what I want. Tonight I need to tell him what I want. I think he feels the same way, so I’m not worried about rejection, but I want him to be patient with me. 

I know we are supposed to meet at seven-thirty, but I have no idea where he lives. Today is going to be busy, and I don’t want to call him so early in the morning, but it’s my only option. Saturday and Sunday aren’t official rehearsal days, but we still have to work. Being an actor is a full-time job when there is so little time to prepare for a part, and as it stands, the rest probably won’t be awake for some time. Cedric and Viktor had a lot to drink last night. Kingsley is probably just glad to have a break from Parkwood Court, and all of the stupid things the residents ask him to fix. I don’t know anything about Montague. Cedric and Viktor seem nice enough, though, and if last night sheds any light on the two of them, I think another couple will come out of this experience. 

With a cup of tea in hand, I head back to the bedroom and check my phone. It’s only eight o’clock, but I’m too anxious to wait. This back and forth of not talking to Draco gets old… I like talking to him and sod the rules of “dating.” I dial his number, wishing that I had snapped a photo to accompany his name. Dragon. The line rings a few times before his sleepy voice answers with a sweet timbre. 

“Yeah, hello?”

“Hey,” I say with a smile. I feel like a teenager as my neglected libido reminds me that I am talking to the person that pets my ego. 

“Mm, morning, pretty bird,” he replies. A few groans, and what sounds like him shifting in bed, leaves me with plenty of ideas, some that scare me, but others that excite me. All of the ideas are themed with sex or some variation of something I want to try with him. I feel slightly embarrassed, as though he can hear my thoughts, when I know he can’t.

“Did I wake you?” Lame! Obviously he was asleep before I so rudely called. I have really got to try harder at being suave. 

“It’s fine. What’s up?” I hear the sheets shifting again, and wonder what he sleeps in. Is he wearing naught but a ribbed tank and boxer briefs like our night together at the club… or is he naked, exposing that beautiful, porcelain-like skin?

“You didn’t tell me where you live.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he says with a chuckle. “Slytherin Tower in Hogwarts Square. I’m in the penthouse, so you will have to stop at the desk when you get here.”

“All right. Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s all right. I probably would have done the same thing,” he says and moans slightly, and it goes straight to my budding erection. “I’m going to get some more sleep. See you tonight, right?” I can hear the smile in his voice and it makes my heart flutter. 

“Yeah. See you tonight.” 

“Bye, Harry.”

“Bye,” I whisper and wait for him to hang up. When the line dies, I finish my tea and go shower. When I step under the warm spray, my cock is stone hard, making my entire body ache. I stand under the water for a moment, letting it cascade around me before closing my eyes and imagining pale pink lips wrapped around my length, teasing me with little flicks before engulfing me whole. I shudder at the memories of Draco’s mouth on me, and run my thumb over the slit of my cock, teasing gently before encasing the fleshy steel in my hand, pumping hard. It doesn’t take long before I am reliving Draco’s mouth tasting me for the first time, letting the memory consume me as the unravelling spool of ecstasy takes me. My whole body remembers that night. My mouth remembers the way I tasted when we kissed and how he tasted after coating my hand. The recollection is enough to make me want to stand under the harsh spray until I can come again. But I have more to do than stand in the shower wanking all day. 

After finishing in the shower and going through my morning routine of brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I take my playbook and head to the kitchen. I might as well start memorising lines. Monday we will begin adding placement, getting measurements for costumes and working on make-up. I am positive Severus will finally comment on my accent as well… I will worry about that when the time comes, but for now, lines.

I have read this play backward and forward at least seven times now, putting all of the themes in my mental box, trying to get a feel for Nat and his seeming insanity. The more I read it, though, the more I can relate to the character’s feelings. He just wants love and acceptance, but he’s willing to stir any pot to get it. As I read through the play once more, the second time this hour, I start to think about things with Draco. I’m no different from Dodger in this piece. I’m not married and seeking companionship in the lonely, desolate dens of a shantytown, but I understand the draw of Draco’s companionship, much like Dodger feels towards Lucky. I wonder what Severus will say when he finds out about Draco and me… Will he be angry? His opinion doesn’t really matter that much, honestly. Being with Draco is my choice, unless he won’t have me. If he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not sure what I will do. Being around him has opened so many different thoughts and feelings I didn’t expect. Not that these new thoughts are bad, but they are different, and kind of foreign, much like America was when I arrived here over twenty years ago. 

Nat is pathetic, quick to exchange his shit life with Billy for the chance to punk for another man. He promises to be much better than Bama’s current lover. I hate that I have to play such a pathetic creature. I am nothing like this boy, but maybe that is why Severus chose me. Reading this is doing nothing for my anxiety. I think I will stop for now. I have enough to worry about with Bill not showing at the house yet, and what will happen when he does. The way he left yesterday was frightening, especially after the way we connected as actors. Connection or not, there is still a lot of strain between us, and if it isn’t resolved soon, I can only imagine how Severus might attempt to abate the teenage… rivalry? 

I throw my playbook aside and make my way to the large sitting room. A telly fits perfectly into the corner of the wall and I take a seat on the large, suede sofa. I sink into the cushions, flipping channel after channel until I come across my cousin’s ugly face. He’s wearing his robe, black with white lining, pointing to his name on the back, “The Dementor.” Flash bulbs are going off and the boxing ring is full of women with more plastic than flesh. Dudley is hugging two of them around their thin waists, shouting at the camera, “I’m going to get you, Crup! You’re going down!”

I feel the snort rumble from my nostrils in the back of my throat and stifle the laughter that bubbles within my chest. “What a wanker.” A reporter appears next to Dudley on screen, pointing her microphone in his face.

“Tell me, Dudley, how are you feeling about the upcoming fight with Vincent ‘The Crup’ Crabbe? He’s the current champion. Do you think you can handle him?” The woman has frizzy blonde hair and a big smile, but her eyebrows furrow in that fake concern reporters perfect to draw viewers. 

“He’s a tosser. I’ll have no problems kicking his arse! You hear that, Crup? I’m going to take you down!”

“And the challenger, Dudley ‘The Dementor’ Dursley is ready to fight. He’s won the last ten of fifteen fights, and now moves into the professional league to stand against one of the most vicious contenders since Walden ‘The Manticore’ Macnair, who retired shortly after a permanent eye injury. Dursley has been waiting for this fight for years, and now he has the chance to prove his strength in the ring. The match will be two weeks from today, Saturday, October fifteenth in Las Vegas!” The reporter turns back to Dudley with her fake, glamorous smile and begins again, “We wish you luck from everyone at Quibbler studios. Back to you, Dolores.”

Dudley stands with a large, toothy smile on his face as his pawing hands creep up the waists of the young ladies that surround him. He makes me sick. He flaunts his fame for the dumbest of reasons… and people wonder why I left Broadway. I hated all the attention. I didn’t need screaming fans or awards, I don’t act for that, I act because it feels good. It is something I am good at, something I am proud of. I always feel good about a production, I always learn something new along the way, and this time it seems my lessons are going to be much more then any others. I am already contemplating my future in ways that didn’t occur to me years ago, and all because of one person and a play. It’s amazing how Draco has gotten into my head. It’s funny how a week ago, I was ready to get away from him, and now I just want to spend more time with him. I want to pick his brain, learn all of the little intimate details of his life and dissect them, seeing how we fit together. Everything about our meeting says we are doomed, but I hold out hope that no matter how things progress, we will only end up better people in the end. After spending so many years with Ginny, I know now that I didn’t know her as well as I thought. I don’t know her favourite colour, or her favourite meal. Everything I know about her is superficial, something that can easily change from one day to the next. She loves shoes and clothes, only the most expensive for the only daughter of the Weasley king, Arthur. I still don’t know why I never met her parents… I know nothing about them and in two weeks, I know Draco despises his father, but not why. I plan to remedy that, but I know it will take some time for him to open up to me. 

The day passes slowly, but I keep myself busy by memorising lines and playing cards with the guys. Kingsley and Krum sit next to one another and touch every so often, getting used to one another, and the same is true for Cedric and Montague, but I am the only one who isn’t able to start that tentative relationship with the man opposite me in this production. Through the various bits of conversation, I learn that Krum and Cedric both worked with Luna shortly after I left New York. They both worked in the same small theatre I did in the summer between shows. I tried not to work in the summer, and since I was still the new kid on the block, I didn’t get the busy months. It wasn’t until my second season that anyone noticed me. It is nice to know that we have some “friends” in common. Luna is a great actress, we became fairly good friends during those two summers and it’s a shame that she is working her way through Hollywood now. I find it immensely ironic that now Luna and I have more in common that before – the whole idea of six degrees of separation makes me wonder who else I may be connected to and not know. 

I finally bore of cards, and go the kitchen in search of more tea, when I see the clock. It’s seven o’clock and fading daylight is still streaming through the many windows of the house. I run back to the room that Bill and I share, and trade my glasses for my contacts. I change into a pair of jeans with torn knees and a black t-shirt with white writing that says, I did everything the director asked and all I got was this stupid t-shirt. I don’t know if I need anything else, so I tie my trainers, grab my cell phone, keys, and head out the door. In my excitement, I fail to pay attention to my surroundings and as I close the door, I regret it. As soon as the heavy wooden monster closes, I hear intense breathing and a gruff voice say, “I like when you beg.” The man chuckles and a heated gasp attracts my attention. 

When I follow the sound of the voices in the early twilight, the image before me halts all motion forward and my heart begins to thud against my sternum painfully. Before me stands a large black SUV, with chrome coloured stripes and tinted windows. Against the driver’s side of the truck is Bill, with a large man, with messy grey and black hair, pushing against him heavily. I can see the truck rocking with each movement the bigger of the two makes. He continues to press Bill against the metal, biting his neck like an animal. 

“Fenrir!” Bill’s ocean-like voice calls out, crashing hard against my eardrums, then retreating each time I hear the shocks and struts strain against the larger man’s thrusts. His breathing is heavy, as if he’s running a marathon, so I can only feel slightly sorry for Bill. If he’s putting himself through these kinds of paces, it’s no wonder he has too much pent-up tension. 

“Beg,” Fenrir growls to the redhead, going harder, until I can’t take what I’m seeing any more. Gods, I hope Draco and I don’t look like this: messy and grotesque like two animals mating in the wild. Bill’s ponytail splays across the window behind his head, and the bigger man continues to rub against him with forced grunts of pleasure.

“Please, want to come,” Bill whines in a voice I’ve never heard from him. It’s so pitiful. “Please,” Bill begs again, and Fenrir claims his mouth, kissing him wet and roughly, much like the elder Weasley did to me the first time on stage. There is nothing erotic about the two men before me, only the sickly stench of booze and lust that lingers below my nostrils far longer then I can bear. 

In an effort to continue to my car, I click the remote on my keys and the locks open, making enough noise that Fenrir grunts and chuckles loudly. “Looks like we have an audience.” 

Bill opens his eyes, horrified, changing from a cloud of lust to the fires of anger. Fenrir doesn’t stop, though, no matter how much Bill protests; he just keeps pushing until he finally grunts again, and releases a long moan into the early twilight. It’s almost like a howl and I use his distraction to my advantage, moving towards my car, which is in front of them in the large driveway. I don’t hear any movement; I already have my back turned and the car door nearly open when I feel a large hand hit my shoulder, sending blunt tingles through my left arm. 

“Where do you think you are going, Potter?”

I turn and face Bill, knocking his hand away. I don’t want him touching me, not after such a display. “None of your business, Weasley.”

“Ah, not much has changed then, eh? You like to run out when things get tough. Tell me, isn’t that what you did to my sister?” I don’t know how he could go from being in the throes of passion to this despotic beast. He smells like cheap wine and sex, and I crinkle my nose, wanting to get away.

“What are you on about? She left me, you prick,” I snap. I don’t have to answer to Bill or anyone else about Ginny. I’ve been down this road with Ron already. 

“Did you think you could keep on playing the Phoenix game with me? I knew the moment I stepped into that theatre on Tuesday who you were, you asshole. You get my sister pregnant and she leaves. What did you do to her, Potter?”

“I didn’t do anything! It’s none of your fucking business. I have somewhere to be, so if you’ll excuse me,” I say as calmly as possible, reaching for the door handle. Bill’s getting too close for my comfort and I move to my left diagonally, distancing myself from the car enough to avoid becoming a hostage against my own vehicle. My finger tips leave the handle as I grip my keys tight, knowing this is going to go badly.

“It is my business! When she said her ex had eyes like precious jewels, I knew who you were. There’s only one man at that theatre with eyes like emeralds…” He yells like a child. “And to think I was hoping Dragon would let you go long enough to corner you in a bathroom stall,” he says with a snort of derision and I hear Fenrir chuckle coldly. I don’t like that man. Nothing about him seems reasonable. His face is scruffy, like someone tore apart steel wool pads and glued them to his pock-marked visage.

“If you have something regarding the play to discuss, I am all ears. Otherwise, I am leaving. I have somewhere to be,” I say with a snarl. I am not comfortable with this situation, and knowing Bill has extra protection does nothing for my nerves. It was only a matter of time before this happened, but I didn’t expect it now. Not tonight… not when I’m meeting Draco. 

“You arrogant little piss!” Bill yells and lunges toward me with the determination of a torpedo. If I hadn’t moved off centre, he would have taken me down, and now I’m glad I assumed the worst, because the worst is happening.

I side step and he crashes against my car, but recovers quickly, lunging again, grabbing my shirt. The material rips slightly at the collar as his nails bite into my skin, but all I feel is the danger, and the need to get away. I focus on the centre of his body, and curl my fingers in, like a tiger’s paw, and ram my knuckles into his solar plexus. He stops for a moment, gasping for breath as he backs away. Fenrir’s sick chuckle weaves its way through my ears, making me want to shut him up. 

“Fuck you!” Bill yells, coming at me again. I already know I didn’t move quick enough and this time he grabs my throat. As I feel my airway constrict, making it difficult to breathe, I use the outside edge of my hands, scraping along his forearms as hard as I possible, driving his elbows inward and down. When his chin is close enough, I connect the heel of my palms like a flower, my fingers becoming the petals, and shove his face as far away as I can. His neck snaps back from the force and he releases a loud grunt of disapproval. He stumbles backwards, breaking his hold on my neck. As I gasp for air, he throws a punch, and I can only evade, parrying the blow with the back of my hand. When I reach the crook of his elbow, I hold tight, dinging my fingers into the freckled flesh like a claw. I don’t give him any time to recover; instead, I kick the edge of his knee, sending him to the ground. I hear the gravel crunch under his weight and try to solidify my stance. He stumbles, trapping his foot between mine, taking me with him to the earth. I land on top of him, and after a few rolls, I am supine. He hooks his fingers in my throat again, but I’m ready for that and as his hands reach out for me, the heel of mine connects with his nose. I don’t care if it’s broken or not. The bastard deserves everything I give, considering he can’t talk to me like an adult. The longer I stay on the ground with rocks digging into my back, the more my body rebels against it. Already aching from the stress of the week, hitting the ground with Bill on top of me in gravel isn’t enjoyable. I stalk towards him, and lay my knee on his chest, digging deep into his sternum. It hurts to press my knee into his chest; I must have skinned it when I went down.

“What happened between Ginny and me is our business, am I clear?”

He grunts, but I want to hear the words. “Am I clear?” I yell at him, staring at his reddened face with disgust. I hear the front door of the house open and feet crashing against the wooden porch, but refuse to turn my attention away from the bastard below me. I hear their questions and raised voices, but they don’t register as I wait for Bill to answer. 

“Yes!” he finally calls out, gasping for breath as my shin presses against his ribs.

“Good. Because if this happens again, I won’t hold back.”

“That’s enough, whelp,” Fenrir growls and grabs me by the shoulders. “You made your point.”

I stumble from his hold and look for my keys on the ground. They fell out of my hand at some point, and I need to get out of here. No matter if I have to go home tonight, I’m not staying here. Consequences be damned, I refuse to live like this again. I spent too much of my youth fighting and protecting myself. I don’t need it when I’m here to work. Damn this! Fuck Bill!

“Phoenix, wait!”

“Someone call Severus!”

I don’t know who said what, but when I finally find my keys, I get in the car, praying that is starts on the first try. As soon as the engine turns, I put the car in gear and press the gas as hard as I can, kicking up gravel and dust as the tachometer needle rises past four thousand RPMs. It isn’t until I approach the road that I slow, knowing I am safely away from Bill and his beastly lover. I turn right, heading towards the city, trying to calm my nerves. I feel my cell phone vibrating, but I ignore it. I need to calm down. I don’t know what to do now. I can’t go back and change, I don’t want to go to my building… I just want to breathe for a second. As air fills my lungs, I thank the Gods that Fenrir didn’t interfere. Fighting both of them would have been a lot harder. Bill is broad, but Fenrir is like a refrigerator that growls.

There is a park not far from Draco’s building, so I drive there, even though it’s dark. I pull in, and stop. Darkness covers the sky, with a few stars littering the navy blanket. My heart is still racing wildly and I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket again, choosing to ignore it in favour of taking appreciative breaths. In effort to release the anger that still pumps through me, I slam my fist against the steering wheel, feeling the hard leather rip my dry knuckles. My eyes are cloudy from the tears of adrenaline that tickle my cheeks, until I wipe them away, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. My whole body aches from the strain of a fight. I haven’t fought in ages and as my hands twitches, I finally look at bluish digital clock display on my console and it reads eight-thirty. 

“Fuck!”

Tonight is not shaping up great at all. Now that I am clear enough to drive, I pull out of the car park and head towards Slytherin Tower. If there is anyone I can talk to, it’s Draco. He may not understand, but I’m tired of holding all of these thoughts, all of this unchecked anger towards my situation. I need to talk to someone. The closer I come to his building, the more frustrated I get, knowing that I have ruined the evening with my little fight with Bill. Nothing is ever easy for me, so why should tonight be any different? 

The city lights drown the brilliance of the stars, as I get closer to the centre. Hogwarts Square is usually bright and full of life, especially on Saturday nights. There are people everywhere and all I can think about is how far away from the world I want to be. I should have never taken this job, no matter what the pay is. Money is not worth all of this. 

My thoughts scatter and my conscience reminds me that Draco and I wouldn’t have gotten to know each other if I hadn’t taken the role. But there was the support group meeting… Even then, I don’t think we would have spoken. I haven’t been back since that one time and even now, I don’t want to be there. I don’t know where I feel safe any more, but I feel like I’m jumping out of my skin. First this shit with Ginny, then meeting Draco, and now Bill. Will I ever get away from Weasleys? Will I ever rid myself of the niggling feeling of fault for Ginny leaving? I have nothing else to go by, only her pitiful apologies and lack of explanation about everything. 

I’m jealous of the seemingly happy couples waltzing along Hufflepuff Avenue as I approach Slytherin Tower. The sting of reality continues to cause a painful ache in my chest, and I just want to get inside this building and see Draco. In my naivety, I believe seeing him will cure the torment I feel. He doesn’t owe me anything, but I can only hope he likes me enough to deal with this. I feel that I am doing him a disservice by wanting to drop my emotional baggage in his lap, but if I don’t talk to someone, I am going to burst. 

The garage is on my left, so I signal and wait for the oncoming traffic to pass before speeding into the dank, fluorescent-lit parking lot. I pull into the first available space and quickly lock the car, not even worrying about the mess of white dust that is all over my shirt now. There is a lift on my right, so I take it to the main floor and stop at the desk like Draco said. There is a short man, squat and wheezing, with a nametag that reads Amycus. He glares at me for a moment, his eyes studying me like I am a museum exhibit.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Dragon. He’s expecting me.” I almost don’t recognise my voice as it cracks with each word I speak. 

“Name?”

“Phoenix.”

He looks down at a book and the side of his mouth curls upwards, scrunching his nose. “I’m sorry, there isn’t anyone by that name listed.”

“Then could you ring him, please?” I ask, feeling more impatient as time ticks by.

“Certainly.”

He picks up the receiver slowly and presses some buttons. He keeps looking at me with distaste as I pace in front of the desk. 

“Yes, good evening, sir. This is Amycus at the front desk. There is a man named Phoenix that claims he is here to see you.”

“Yes, but you listed Harry Potter, sir. I’m sorry, it’s just routine-”

“Just give me the god damn key!” I yell, tired of his games already. 

He speaks into the receiver once more, “Yes, sir. Certainly. My apologies.” He reaches in a drawer, retrieves a key, and then disappears after hanging up the phone. When he comes back, he holds another key up with a nasty smile. “Insert the key into the far right slot and press the penthouse button. It will take you right to him.”

“Thanks,” I say, and scramble towards the lift. Once inside, I rest my back against the wall and wait as each floor goes by painfully slowly. I stow the key in my pocket, ignoring the vibrations that tickle my leg. It has to be Severus calling. Everyone else would have taken the hint by now, but now that I am going to open the doors of my emotional cave, I don’t care about his sodding consequences. I have taken everyone else’s shit for too long and now it’s my turn to unload. If Draco doesn’t want to ever see me again after this, then so be it. I have a feeling he will be a little more understanding than I want to give him credit for, though. If he can tell the story of his infection with a stranger in the group, I can share my story. At least what I know of my story, anyway. I look at the numbers above the doors and see I am only one floor away. I start to feel calm when the machine halts and a chime sounds as the doors open. It doesn’t take long, but Draco appears in the hall from around a corner, and my senses are so blunt I don’t notice the herbs and spices that surround me. 

“What the hell happened to you?” he demands as I slowly amble towards him. 

Here goes nothing.


	16. An Invitation

Chapter 16: An Invitation  
Draco’s POV – Saturday - 1 October 2005 

 

No matter how hard I try to get back to sleep, I can’t. I want to call Harry back and talk to him, ask him what his plans for the day are, but it’s better to just wait until later. By then, the anticipation will have nearly driven me mad, and I will have plenty to ask and to tell. I try in vain to ignore my erection, only made worse by Harry’s melodic voice. One day I will tell him what that sexy drawl does to my body, but for now, I will stick to simply admiring it. I wonder what’s he doing up so early. He left the club with the other two actors a little after midnight, but then again, he didn’t drink as much as they did. He tasted so good last night. Every time he pulled away, I salivated for more of his mouth and lips. It’s a wonder I get anything done around there with his lips and tongue teasing me the way they do. My cock twitches at the memory, and I can’t ignore it any longer. I ease my hand down my chest, imagining it’s Harry’s moving downward, teasing my nipples softly, then moving on. My hands aren’t as rough as Harry’s, but with my eyes closed and mind wandering, it doesn’t matter much. The further I go, I move the sheets aside and spread my legs, relishing in the feel of the soft material beneath me. I see blond hair in my mind's eye, settling between my legs for the first time. I can remember the weight of Adrian’s body pressed against mine, as if I am fifteen-years-old again. He wasn’t my first lover, but he was the last of easy lays, and the only one I have ever let take control of my body from me. Getting herpes from him was like the end of the world, only now I see a new one forming the more I am with Harry. If I shift the memory, changing features until I can see emerald green eyes, messy black hair, and feel his weight against me, it’s no longer a bad memory, but the birth of a new one. I can feel his cock between my legs and his fingers exploring me with shy ease. I finally reach my cock, playfully stroking it at first, twisting and teasing the same way Harry did with me pressed against the wall of his flat. He was so rough and determined, taking me over the edge with such little effort, even in his inexperience. Before I can prolong the delicious sensations, I am crowning the head of blissful agony. Hot, sticky come paints a picture of sated desire on my hand, leaving me panting for breath. What a way to wake up. The only thing better would be Harry doing it…

Feeling more lucid, I find myself going through the motions of my daily routine and dress in a light pair of pants. Mild sunlight filters across the bedroom, making it feel full and alive, despite the emptiness that truly surrounds me. For such a large place, full of so many things, my home is empty of many of the things it truly needs; the warmth of life and the subtle touches of a lover. There are no special toiletries for guests, only elegant towels embroidered with a large ‘D’ and the spoils that many blindly crave. Yes, I have a large place to live, enough money to live three lifetimes with, but my life is terribly empty. At least it was until I met Harry. I now have an excuse to be a better man, rather than just going through the motions, pretending to be something I’m not. Even I can admit that the thought of just fucking him became one of my major goals when we first met, but now, the closer I get to him, the less I want a superficial affair. Knowing that we have something in common makes him even more enticing. I know that I don’t have to limit myself to lovers based on whether they have herpes or not, but knowing Harry does makes wanting to be with him seem easier. At this point, condoms will be a choice, not a necessity. I mean, I don’t care if Harry doesn’t… I know that things are going to be slow with him, and I don’t mind it in the least. Not anymore. Learning little things keeps me on my toes, like how he’s won two Tonys, and that he wears no “masks” with me. I wonder what else lies behind his mask of indifference. He always seems so full of life, despite everything going on around him, and I find that I envy such simplicity. I have lived as a shadow for so long, I think the darkness if finally starting to work it’s way into my being. I suppose there is hope, especially if someone like Harry wants to be around someone like me. 

Today Dora and I plan to meet at the club early to solidify my plans for the Halloween party. After Harry left last night, Dora and I talked at length about themes and budget for the event. After much deliberation and a quick recall of all the past themes, we settled on the fifties and sixties. With a clear direction, we are going to meet for lunch to discuss the finer details of decorations, catering, music, and the hiring of performers. I am also of the mind that some sort of contest might be a good idea. I am sure I can contact some of the local gay-friendly businesses and get prizes of some sort. The club is losing money, but I believe it’s due to the lack of events and new spins on old ideas. It’s hard to please everyone, but I think with a little work, we can bring attendance back up and begin making profits again. If not, well, I am prepared to take on partners, but for now I will stick to working new activities into the current line up. If I don’t see a change in numbers in six months, it might be prudent to start looking for partners. The Dragon’s Tail operates on ten-thousand dollars a year in electricity alone, and of course, there are staff salaries, contracts with vendors, and maintenance costs. 

Ms Jorkins, my house cleaner, arrives on time, just as I am leaving to meet Tonks. With a pair of smart black slacks and a shirt to match, I wave to the talkative woman before she stops me and rehashes all of the latest gossip. I don’t have time to hear about celebrities and chance hearing news of Father. I leave her to her duties and get the plans for Halloween underway. 

*****

Carefully chosen salmon fillets, fresh vegetables and herbs litter the counter-top of my kitchen. I have a pot of rice pilaf cooking, with chopped almonds to stuff into the salmon once it’s ready. I hope that Harry isn’t a picky eater; if he’s not the fish type, dinner will prove problematic. It’s nearly seven o’clock and I am beginning to feel the anticipation like an irritating itch. I want to see Harry, even if it’s only been less than a day. My pretty bird, my Phoenix. Making all of the appropriate preparations seems to kill a lot of time, but still not enough. It isn’t until I am sitting on the couch that I realise it’s almost eight o’clock and Harry should have been here half-an-hour ago. I wait a little longer, but at eight-thirty, I decide it’s time to call him. The line rings and rings, and then his voicemail answers, “Hey, this is Harry. Leave me a message.” I hang up. 

When my home telephone rings, I know Harry must be here. Amycus, the moron at the desk, seems to find joy in making life difficult for people. I put either name on the books, but I suppose that the fat lump is illiterate as well as lacking the brainpower to process a simple command. The important thing is that Harry is here and on his way up.

Time ticks by slowly until I hear the elevator chime finally ring throughout my penthouse. In the kitchen, I hear the soft footfalls on the foyer floor and peer around the corner, eager to see Harry. I’m startled when I see his normally messy hair sticking up, and matted together with sweat. There are streaks of blood across his face and rips along the collar of his shirt. The black fabric is nearly grey with the amount of dust clinging to it and his jeans have tears at the knees, with a few dark, blotchy stains seeping through the stonewashed denim. The closer Harry draws to me, I see his eyes are weary and dark, void of the lustre that draws me in with one look. Each step he takes forward seems unnatural and he stops to look at me with a tense expression. Red and brown markings paint his creamy neck like aged canvas. Welts are visible on his arms and dried blood crusts his knuckles. The muted green of his eyes bores into me and I can no longer remain passive, awaiting an explanation.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask, feeling confusion become the blanket that covers my thoughts. His gaze shifts as he looks around and sees the mirror in the foyer. He takes a few steps forward and looks at himself for a long moment before speaking again.

“I think I need to sit down,” he says in an equally weary voice to match his appearance. 

“Are you all right?”

“I suppose so,” he says simply with a shrug.

Will he mistake an offer for a hot bath and fresh clothes for something else? I’m at a loss, unsure of exactly what to do. Part of me wants to be upset at him for being late and ruining a perfectly good dinner, but the other part of me feels relieved that he is finally here and seemingly OK, for the most part. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he answer when I called?

Harry looks like he was in either a car accident or fight. I don’t know which is better… I need to offer him to opportunity to bathe. I think he will feel better, but at the same time, so will I. I don’t want to seem crass, but the thought of cleaning blood from my sofa is not one I want to entertain. I hope none of his injuries are terribly threatening, but then again, Harry may be one of those people who doesn’t deal with doctors or hospitals. 

“Harry, let me draw you a bath. You need to get cleaned up,” I offer, fighting the urge to ask too many questions. He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to answer a lot of questions, and it might just be better to let him get cleaned up and wash away the frustration and tension that is so apparent on his face and in his body language. Each visible muscle seems to be protruding from his skin, pulled taut with tension and strain. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he replies.

“Follow me.”

I take him to my bedroom; he deserves the pampering of my personal space, not the simple, yet elegant bathroom reserved for guests. Harry is more than a guest here. 

I start the water as he slowly enters behind me, moving with precise steps and a dazed expression. He starts to peel his clothes off, piece by piece, and I feel slightly uncomfortable. I don’t want Harry to think I don’t respect his personal boundaries, but I can’t help but watch as he lifts his shirt, and I see more red marks marring his creamy skin. This is the first time I have seen him without any clothes at all, and I feel hot as I follow the swell of his chest, sparse with hair, only a little around his brown nipples. His abdomen displays six hard ridges, showing how much work he’s put into maintaining his body. When he drops his jeans, I hear the clank of his keys against the floor tiles and admire his ass as he bends over to remove his socks. I must have missed him kicking off his shoes, because he’s already removing his boxer briefs before I can avert my eyes. He is well trimmed, and everything about him seems perfect. I reach in the cabinet, and as I’m rummaging, I hear the shower start and Harry’s voice.

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo and soap can I use?”

“Anything is fine. Why are you in there?”

“I want to soak some, so I’d rather be clean before I get in the tub.”

It makes sense that he is washing first, but I’m still slightly confused. The tub is nearly full, so I turn off the taps. Harry is already exiting the shower stall, and once again, I feel slightly embarrassed. He seems to have no shame, and I like that, but I couldn’t be so bold, not with the scar on my back. He doesn’t even wrap a towel around himself, he just moves to the tub and sinks into its depth, leaning his head against the porcelain. With a soft groan, he relaxes completely and I gather his clothes, prepared to allow him some privacy, but he surprises me.

“Don’t leave,” he says softly as the water splashes with his movement. I turn to look at him, and he’s sitting up, looking at me with wide green eyes. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me put this in the wash, and I’ll be right back,” I say with a smile.

“'Kay, sounds good.”

I leave Harry and head to the laundry room, cursing my libido at a time like this. I shouldn’t be thinking about sex, no matter how good he looks. He’s just been through some traumatic event, and I’m ready to jump in bed and go a few rounds like a teenager. I reach in his pockets and remove his wallet, which he seems to keep in his hip pocket, rather than the back pocket. There are only three things: his keys, wallet and cell phone, which begins to vibrate as soon as I lift it from the enclosure. I know it’s wrong, but I’m curious who is calling. I look at the front display and the jumble of icons shows he has voicemail, text messages and missed calls. I let my curiosity take control and against my better judgement, I open the phone. Three missed calls. I ignore the missed calls and go straight through the menu and locate his messages. One new text message. I see the name Ginny Weasley and below it, I miss you.

I feel angry suddenly. This Ginny Weasley must be his ex. Without thinking, I quickly reply with, Sorry, he’s got someone new. Your loss. I go back and delete both messages before turning the phone off completely, and heading back to the bedroom. Harry’s going to need something to wear, so I grab some underwear, a pair of pants and a tank top before returning to the bathroom. 

When I walk in, Harry’s eyes are closed and his head is lolling to the side slightly. I place the clothes on the counter and lean against the wall, just watching him, until he turns and looks at me with a wry grin. I sit down against the wall, and rest my arms on the tops of my bent knees. 

“Enjoying the view?” he quips.

“Always. Feeling any better?”

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry for ruining dinner.”

“Harry, what happened?”

“I suppose I should start at the beginning to really answer that question,” he says and sits up slightly. “In my sophomore year of college, I ran out of gas on I-89 and this young redhead stopped to help me. Turns out we both went to the same college, and so there began my relationship with Ginny Weasley. I was majoring in theatre; she, business. We spent a lot of time together, and over the years, it was just natural that we would graduate, move in together and all those wonderfully stereotypical heterosexual progressions.”

He stops and looks at me, but I don’t respond, knowing that if I stop him, he might not finish. His eyes are still shining, though, and with a soft smile, he leans back against the tub.

“She got pregnant,” he begins with a sigh. “I was so excited, because I never had parents. But she left and went on another business trip, and came back a completely different person. I mean, the more I think about it, I didn’t really know her as well as I thought, but she wasn’t anything like she used to be. I went through the motions, trying to just be supportive, thinking that she was just upset about the pregnancy. I mean, she was so happy when she left… Not long after we found out, I decided I should do the right thing and just ask her to marry me. I hadn’t touched her in what seemed like weeks, and everything went on as usual. We went to one of her charity events at Hufflepuff Garden and she finally touched me, so we made love. The next morning, she had packed everything by the time I woke up and just left. No note, no phone call, nothing. For a month, I tried to call her and she wouldn’t speak to me. It wasn’t until after I was diagnosed with herpes that she called, and then told me she knew about it. She said that was why she left, but that wasn’t even the biggest blow,” he says with his voice cracking slightly.

I can see the pain written on his face so clearly and a part of me hurts for him. I can only guess what is to come, but I will let him tell me; he needs to talk, that much is apparent. He takes a deep breath and turns his head away from me, running his hand through his hair.

“She lost the baby, but wouldn’t tell me what happened, and that was it. The call ended and I have been asking questions since then without a damn answer. That day you and I were supposed to go to lunch, my friends Ron and Hermione stopped by. Ron is Ginny’s brother, same as Bill. And tonight, it was Bill who wanted answers. Apparently ‘none of your business’ doesn’t count as a good enough reason to not answer his questions. He was out there with some bloke named Fenrir, practically being shagged up against a truck, and then he started a fight with me as soon as I tried to leave. This,” – he says, pointing to his neck – “is where he got a hold of me. But I made it clear that I wasn’t going to answer his questions. At least Fenrir stayed out of it… so now you know. I am going to be in it deep for this, but I am not going to take her family’s shit.”

I feel bad for Harry, knowing that he lost something precious to him. Personally, I don’t want any children, but I won’t fault him for wanting them, and I know that he’s hurt, having lost his with no explanation. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling, but I am sure the betrayal of the woman he wanted to marry doesn’t feel very good. 

“Harry?”

“Mmm?” he hums, and turns to look at me, his eyes watering with unshed tears.

“If I had known, I wouldn’t have-”

“Draco, stop,” he interrupts me. “I really like you.”

I look at him, trying to understand exactly what he means. Is this some clever brush off? 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this, us, means something to me and I want to get to know you, not just be a friend. I want to be with you,” he says, his eyes boring into me. 

I’m speechless. Here Harry is offering me exactly what I want and I feel like running away. Instead, I just look at him curiously, wondering if he’s for real. 

“Draco?”

“Huh?”

“Sod it,” he says and turns to look at the ceiling. I see one of the tears roll down his cheek, feeling even more like a coward than before.

“Harry, no, look, I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re ready for a relationship?”

“I’m new at this, OK? I don’t know how these things work, least of all with a man. But I can’t ignore my feelings, Draco. I can’t act like you don’t affect me, even if it’s something I’m not used to.”

“Harry, there is no way in these things. They just happen. And, if you think you are ready, then I’d like to be with you,” I reassure him, feeling our roles reversed. It wasn’t long ago that he was trying to make me understand that he had no regrets. Maybe I should try being as brave as he is, maybe it would make things easier. 

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend, though. It cheapens it, I think. Just let me be your partner… and eventually your lover.”

He stares at me intently, his face questioning me. I don’t want to deny him this, nor myself, so I nod, never breaking eye contact with him. He answers me with a smile that makes my heart tap dance. 

“Can I have a towel?” he asks, still smiling.

I stand and hand him a towel, still finding it hard to look away from his body, but needing to focus on something other than him. 

“Draco, look at me,” he says, standing. “Don’t be afraid to look at me.”

“I’m not,” I reply, feeling like he knows something.

“Then look at me. I don’t care. I want you to see me,” he says with sincerity. 

So I look, seeing his budding erection, and admiring all of him, from the top of his messy black-haired head, down to his bony feet. He steps out of the tub onto the carpet and dries off quickly.

“I’m going to check your clothes. If you are hungry, dinner’s in the kitchen.”

“Be right out.”

I feel heady with excitement as I take his clothes out of the wash and put them in the dryer. I stand against the machines for a moment, contemplating how things will go now, but one thing is for sure, I want him to stay with me tonight. I don’t want him to leave and go back to his life as usual without holding him, feeling his warmth in my bed. I have never wanted to be with someone like I want to be with him, and it’s thrilling to know he returns the feelings. 

In the kitchen, Harry is at the table, sitting in the pair of boxers I left out and the tank, with one foot propped on the edge of the chair. He looks so relaxed, and I feel something, unsure of what it is. Appreciation? 

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Baked salmon stuffed with rice pilaf and chopped almonds. Riesling and cheesecake.”

“That sounds really good,” he says with a grin, and I am thankful that he didn’t say he wasn’t a fan of fish. “Your turn…” 

“My turn?” I question.

“Yeah, your ex. Might as well get it out of the way now.”

“Oh, well, where to start? I met Regulus right after college. We were together for a few years, but he had prostate cancer. Died about two years ago. I haven’t really dated much since then. Just the once with Oliver really.”

“Were you in love?” he asks with his fork halfway out of his mouth. 

“No. I think he was more like a really close friend. We didn’t have sex often. He couldn’t. He refused treatment, so it was just two men offering companionship to one another.”

“Wow. And I thought I was miserable,” he says with a smile. “That must have been hard. How did you deal with it?”

“Spent a lot of time at the support group.”

“You really started it then?”

“Yes. About four years ago. I went to school in Raleigh, NC State. I graduated and started to make my way in the world, even if I didn’t know what that way was going to be. It wasn’t until I came back from Japan that I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Severus is my godfather, so knowing he lived here, I asked him to help me and I set up the club.”

“Japan? Is that how you learned to write ‘Dragon’ and ‘Phoenix’ in Kanji?”

“Yes,” I reply with a chuckle. He asks questions like a child, one after another. At least he waits until his food is chewed properly before speaking. 

Instead of allowing him the chance to ask me anything else, I ask him something. “Tell me about those Tony awards. What did you get them for?”

“Oh, you want to know the answers to hard questions!” he says with a laugh. It’s so nice to see him back to his usual self so soon. I’m guessing that the chat in the bathroom did him the world of good. “In my last semester I went to New York City and played Raoul in ‘Phantom of the Opera.’ I won the Tony in my first run, but because I was new, I didn’t work the summers. And when I came back for the second season, the bloke playing the Phantom said the-show-which-must-not-be-named and bollixed it up. When we were doing one of the sword fights, he hit my collarbone by accident, and I was out of work for weeks while it healed.”

“You sing?”

“Yeah, but not much.”

“What was the other one for?”

“‘Little Shop of Horrors.’ I played Seymour. But it took me two seasons before I got a Tony for it.”

“What is the-show-which-must-not-be-named?”

“‘Macbeth’.”

“What? Why?” I ask with a chuckle. Actors!

“Well usually we just call it the Scottish play, but whenever you say Macbeth in the theatre, Murphy’s Law happens.”

“The one that says whatever can go wrong, will go wrong?”

“That’s the one.”

“What do you do if you know they said the-show-which-must-not-be-named?”

“Every theatre is different. There are rituals, if you were, that dispel the curse. In college, we made the person leave the theatre and they had to turn around three times, spit, say the foulest word they know, and then had to knock to be admitted into the theatre again. But people do all kinds of things. We can’t make everyone quote another Shakespeare play, most don’t remember any quotes.” 

“Please tell me you are kidding?”

“No. It’s for real. Every time someone said Macbeth when they were inside the theatre, someone got hurt. It just happened to be me that night.”

“What else have you done?”

“On Broadway I did ‘The Glass Menagerie’ and ‘Beauty and the Beast’. In the summers, I did ‘Macbeth’ until I was given a choice to stay on in the summers.”

“Why did you come back here?”

“Ginny was done with school and I had the Dursleys. We aren’t close, but they are all the family I have.”

“Parents?”

“Don’t know what happened to them. I don’t even know their names. I remember their faces, though.”

Harry is no longer eating, so I stand and get rid of our plates, and take his hand, forcing him to his feet.

“What’s the matter?”

Instead of answering, I kiss him. His lack of immediate participation makes me think he didn’t expect it, so I encourage his lips open with my tongue, tasting the remnants of wine and dinner on him. Further prompting is no longer needed and he finally opens, allowing me the opportunity to feel him and swallow every morsel he offers. My toes curl, making my shoes painfully tight. He places his hands on my hips, running his fingers along the hem of my shirt until his skin touches mine. I feel warmth flood every area that his fingers explore, and demand more with my kisses. His hands slip from underneath my shirt and slide downward until they reach my ass, pressing me closer into him. 

“Stay with me tonight,” I ask, breaking the kiss before I lose my nerve. I feel his hardness against me, and I press into him, drowning in the soft moan that floods the room.

“If you want me to,” he replies, kissing me again softly. 

“Yes, please.”

“OK, I’ll stay.”

I smile and look into his eyes, dark with lust. He licks his lips and I want to take them again, I want to feel them again. He pulls away and looks at me with his brows furrowed in thought, and finally speaks.

“The other night, when you,” he hesitates, “can’t you still get herpes from that?”

“I’m fine, Harry. I’ve got both oral and genital herpes. Besides, I wouldn’t miss tasting you for anything,” I respond, kissing him again. His hips rock into me and without further interruption, I lead him to the bedroom and let him take the lead. This is new for him; I want him to feel confident about what he’s doing.

He pulls away from the kiss, unbuckling my belt and massaging me through the material before letting it drop to the floor. I allow him to take off my shirt, but insist that he stop. I know my own self-control won’t last if I let him take all of my clothes away. “Harry, let’s just talk for now. We have plenty of time for exploration. For now, let’s get to know one another.”

“All right,” he whispers. His voice is low and that accent tickles my insides, making me fight against my better judgement, but I remain strong. He offers me a reassuring smile before settling against me, wrapping an arm around me protectively, and I, in turn, do the same.

I strain to keep my erection from touching him, but in my arms, it’s difficult, because I also feel him pressing against me. It’s so hard not to want him. He’s different from everyone else and it makes me feel incredibly strong, and happy to know that he is mine, and I am his. We are together. His warmth covers me like the calm I seem to have been missing for my whole life and I struggle with my desires versus my conscience. It isn’t long before his steady breaths tell me that he’s asleep, and I can’t begrudge him the need to rest. He’s been through a lot this evening, and I am basking in the rays of his brilliance. 

I know now that I will have to make another sacrifice to be with Harry. He isn’t used to being out of control, but neither am I. I will have to give that to him if I want anything other than quick kisses, or blow jobs. He will need to know that I am willing to give of myself, but also want to take in return. Adrian was useless, but I know Harry will take care and that’s all the reassurance I need. Giving myself to him will just be another first, another reason to be with him and accept all that being with him allows. He hasn’t been here long, but already the atmosphere around the apartment is different. It no longer feels empty like it did earlier in the day. Now the whole place seems to dance with unseen light, crackling with vibrant energy. 

I close my eyes, allowing the memory of his lips to guide me to sleep. 

*****

In the morning, I feel Harry’s weight still pressing against me and despite my arm being asleep, I smile with the knowledge that we have all the time that this world will allow us. I get up, hating to leave Harry in the bed alone, but the sun is demanding my attention and I hate morning breath. I brush my teeth and then go for Harry’s phone, wanting to see if the stupid woman replied to my text. I take it from the laundry room and turn the power back on, waiting for a bit before I am satisfied that she understands she no longer has a place in Harry’s life. She has no claim on him, and I’ll be damned if I let her take away what has just offered itself freely to me. 

I make a quick breakfast of eggs, toast and milk, taking a tray into the bedroom for Harry. After his night, I think it’s only fair to deliver breakfast in bed. When I set the tray down, he opens his eyes lazily and stares at me for a moment before smiling and groaning a soft, ‘good morning’.

“Eat. We can’t sit in bed all day.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are civilised people?”

“Sod that, give me another twenty minutes.”

“To hell with that. I made you breakfast and you are going to eat,” I chide playfully.

“Yes, sir,” he says and sits up, wiping his eyes. “Shit, I slept in my contacts.”

“So?”

“Not good for the eyes. Glasses are back at the house.”

“Ah, well, eat and I’ll take you to get them. What do you want to do today?”

“Well, at some point I have to study my lines, but after that, who knows?”

“We’ll play it by ear. Eat, get dressed, we can get some of your things and spend the day together.”

“Sounds good.”

After eating, we head to Remus’ house, and immediately I know something’s off. Severus’ car is in the driveway. I turn to look at Harry and he can see it too. His happy expression becomes a scowl, and his normally calm demeanour becomes cold and distant. 

We go inside without hesitation and the tension in the air is palpable. 

“Where well the hell is he?” Severus is yelling, which is never a good sign. 

“I don’t know, he left and no one has heard a thing, sir.”

“I’m here, Severus,” Harry says with a growl. 

“Ah, so glad you finally decided you would grace us with your presence, your eminence. Tell me, what the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I tell you to work it out?”

“Yes, but if you haven’t heard already, he attacked me first.”

I watch as the two men stare each other down, wondering what will happen next. 

“I expected you both to act like adults. My hands are tied, so this is how you will proceed. For the next three days, neither, I repeat, neither of you is to leave this house for anything,” says Severus, looking at Harry and Bill. Both of them begin to protest, but Severus raises his booming voice. “Silence! You will comply or neither of you will ever work in theatre again. Is that clear? Fines do me no good, because the money just goes back to the benefactor. I want you both to patch this schoolboy rivalry up. Three days! You will ride to the theatre for rehearsals with one of you fellow actors and that is all.”

I look at Severus’ stern face before locking eyes with Harry, offering an apologetic shrug. 

“And you! Didn’t I warn you already?” he says scowling. His voice pierces my defences and I hate that he’s here. 

“I’m an adult, Severus. If I want to be with Harry, I will.”

“You are to leave. Do not come back here, is that understood?” Severus said coldly.

“As you wish,” I reply. “Harry, walk me out?”

Harry looks at Severus for a moment, but begins to walk towards me despite the warning written across the older man’s features.

Outside, Harry stomps down the stairs, but I let him fume. He’s dealing with enough for now and it isn’t my place to take away his emotions. He seems to need the outlet and I’d rather he deal with it then let it consume him. 

“Whenever I find something, someone always finds a way to take it away. I will call you,” Harry says before giving me a quick kiss. He turns around and slams the door behind him, and I am left standing with my keys in hand, feeling rattled. I am sure I will receive a verbal lashing from Severus, but he isn’t my keeper. 

I’ll see you Wednesday, pretty bird.


	17. Repairing The Damage

Chapter 17: Repairing the Damage  
Harry’s POV – Tuesday – 5 October 2005

 

Rehearsals are hell. Severus takes every opportunity to snap at me, giving me nothing more than critical feedback on everything. Bill garners his praise at every turn. When I'm not running after Cedric or Krum, who wander off during scenes, I sit quietly, reading my lines over and over until they mix together, word after word until my head spins. Only the ride back to the secluded house allows me a moment's peace. I ride with Kingsley, he seems to be the only sane man among this lot. But riding with him lets me talk to someone a little older and more experienced in life. For the last two days, I have talked to him about Draco, and explaining some things, purposefully avoiding Ginny. He hasn’t asked, which makes it easier just to ask questions. Kingsley explained how he learned he was gay, and that if I wasn’t prepared for stares, comments and possible violence, then to keep our relationship quiet. He also said that he doesn’t care what people’s opinions of him are, which makes me feel good. He tells me stories, sometimes they are about his family, sometimes about ex-lovers, and I feel a little bit better knowing Kingsley and I have something in common. I didn’t know he was married and has a daughter, and probably never would if he hadn’t auditioned for this role. He tells me about his character, and that he enjoys playing the role so much because he’s nothing like the man he plays. He’s reserved, but his character is a trick, earning his bread by sleeping with men. 

This morning, Severus was in a slightly better mood. He began with passing around copies of the promotional materials, including the playbill, which I eagerly thumbed through finding something I didn't realise I was looking for until it leapt from the page.   
Mr. Saul Y. Folicum – Benefactor  
Without Mr. Folicum’s commitment to the arts, this presentation of ‘The Jocker’ would not have been possible. The Moste Potente Productions family offers our everlasting gratitude for his patronage of the arts in Scottsland.

 

Who the hell is this man? I’ve never heard of him. I suppose it doesn’t matter too much, he’s just some rich guy, probably a closet homosexual, hiding from his wife and children. I wonder if I had met Draco while I was still with Ginny, would I have been doing the same thing? If Severus had called before Ginny left, would I still want this relationship with Draco?

I’m sore, and the longer I wait around here, my mind seems to keep me on edge. I don’t know if my tension comes from the role, and how hard it seems I have to work to be a submissive pet, or if it’s my cold-shoulder relationship with Bill and Severus at the moment. Cedric and Krum have tried to stick around the house and keep me company, but I didn’t expect them to stay around much. Most of the time we just talk about past shows, and the two of them seem to be bonding well. Seeing them together flirting makes me miss Draco. At least I will speak with him on the phone this evening. I didn’t realise how dependant on his presence I am until this forced separation. As I am preparing to leave, Remus stops me, pulling me into Severus’ office. Mouth drawn into a tight line, Severus’ soft-spoken husband stares at me for a moment then speaks. “How are things going, Harry?”

“Fine,” I say with a shrug. “Severus isn’t giving me any breaks, but I can’t complain.” Which isn’t exactly true, I can complain, a lot and often if need be. At the moment, I want to complain about this imprisonment that Severus demanded, and that there doesn’t seem to be enough time to be with Draco. 

“And with Draco, how are things going?”

“Severus told you?”

“Yes.”

“Everything is fine.” I see no point in giving him any more details than need be. 

“Harry, I’m concerned about your relationship with him.”

“Why? We get on well and have a lot in common.”

“His past is,” seemingly choosing his words carefully, Remus begins again, “complicated, Harry. I just think you should be careful.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I care about you as though you were my own child. I just don’t want to see anything happen… to either of you. Some mistakes are harder to fix than others.”

“Thanks, Remus, really. But I think I am old enough to make my own mistakes, as you put it.”

“Yes, I suppose you are. Just be careful, all right?”

I nod, feeling confused by his words. Remus has never been the kind of man to offer warnings about anything. What could be so wrong about continuing my relationship with Draco? He’s kind, even if he’s slightly spoilt. He listens to what I have to say without complicating matters. He isn’t overly emotional about little issues and he’s supportive. What more could I want? I am not giving up this little piece of happiness now that I have it, not without some sort of valid reason. I like being with him too much. We both leave the office and Severus offers me his best glare. 

In the year and a half that I have worked with Severus, I have never been on the receiving end of his ire, but now he refuses to disengage his carefully locked sights. In the past two days, my only solace has been talking with Draco and sitting on the large deck behind Remus’ family home. Leaning back against the wooden bench of the deck connected to my shared bedroom with Bill, the softly swaying trees demand my attention. The leaves, still verdant, bring thoughts of Draco to mind, and one of the many conversations we have had in the past two days. He told me that his favourite colour is green – in any shade – but that my eyes were his favourite tint by far. I wonder if he would want to sit out here with me, looking at this beautifully pampered lawn hidden away from the rest of the world. Hearing the wind shuffle the dying foliage, I take a deep breath, trying to imagine him playing an acoustic guitar with deep scratches in the grain, reaching far past the pick guard. I remember him telling me that was the one instrument that he always wanted to learn how to play, but it was discouraged as an idle pastime. I get the impression that his father was very strict with his upbringing, and without a mother, I can only imagine all of the things he missed out on, a commonality that we share. I had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, very poor examples of parenting, and Draco had his father… His mother died in childbirth, but the strain accompanying his voice with that shared knowledge makes me think there is something more to the story than he is telling. As I scratch away each layer of his past, another question always seems to tap my mental shoulder, begging for me to ask.

The setting sun pulls my thoughts with it, allowing the emptiness of comfort to cushion me. It’s so easy to sit here, letting my body go limp against the hardened surface, letting the rich smell of the earth seep into me. My silence doesn’t last long enough, interrupted by the door to my left opening, and heavy thuds sounding against the deck. I look up and Bill stares at me with a determined expression, one that makes me slightly uncomfortable. 

“Potter, can we talk?”

“You aren’t going to try to choke me again, are you?” I ask, feeling obstinate. 

“No, I just want to talk,” he says and gestures to the seat beside me. “Can I sit?”

“Sure,” I say, making room for the older Weasley. He looks a lot like Ginny, his features full of soft curves and the same pointy nose I used to press like a button. His face is full of freckles, and his hair is long and shiny like Ginny’s, but his eyes are much softer, at least in this instance. In the theatre, he becomes Billy, making it easy to separate this man from the character he plays. 

“I spoke to Ron yesterday,” he begins, sitting next to me. “He says you are a good man, Harry. And it seems I was wrong about a few things. Ginny refused to talk to me, so I am guessing what Ron told me about you is true.”

“And what did he say exactly?” Bill shifts, and his body language is closed. Either he’s hiding something or this talk is merely a concession.

“He said that Ginny left you, without any answers. I knew about the baby, but I didn’t know she waited so long to tell you about what happened. I know she can be selfish, but you have to understand, she’s my baby sister. I- I thought that you had betrayed her and it pissed me off. I’m sorry, it was none of my business, and I am really sorry about everything.”

I look at man beside me, trying to gauge the level of truth in his words. His expression is fairly neutral, but the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and the soft folds above his brow shows me there is some sort of thought behind them. He might actually be telling the truth, and I have to ask myself, do I trust him?

“Ron told me that you took good care of her, even when she didn’t deserve it.”

“Ron needs to learn how to keep his bloody mouth shut,” I snap, feeling betrayed by my long-time friend.

“Whatever happened, I can see that you didn’t plan it. You and Dragon don’t look very close, and I overreacted.”

“Apology accepted. Ginny and I never were really close, Bill. I thought that we had something special, but the more I think back on things, I really didn’t know her at all. She spent more time on business trips than with me. We went to her charity events for dates, and when I wasn’t working, she was. It was a never-ending struggle for time together. I was surprised when she got pregnant, but I didn’t mind it. I hoped it would keep her home more often so I could get to know her again. She was the one that insisted we get a place together. I tried…”

“I know my sister, she’s selfish. You don’t have to explain.”

“So, is this a truce?”

“Yeah,” he says and extends his hand. I accept it firmly, letting him know I am as good as my word. I have the niggling feeling that there is something else he wants to say, but I leave it alone. 

“You can stop sleeping on the couch now. I promise I won’t come after you in your sleep.” He chuckles when he says it, but part of me was thinking that he would come after me while I slept. 

“Right,” I reply and he stands to leave, but I want some time alone in the bedroom. “Hey, can you give me a bit before you settle down? I need to make some phone calls.”

“Sure thing, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

I wait a little while before going into the bedroom. Watching the stars blink to life is more interesting than the inside of the house. I have a few things to look at while I have some privacy as well. I had Kingsley stop and buy a few books for me before he came home from the theatre. I want to read some and get an idea of what I am getting myself into with Draco. While I feel completely at ease with him, our conversations late at night are starting to wear my resolve thin. With each phone call, I pay the price of desire, a longing I never felt with Ginny. She was convenient, and safe, and I dove in headfirst without thinking. While my instincts tell me to do the same with Draco, I want to be slightly knowledgeable about sex with a man; I want to see how different things might be. It’s not like Ginny and I never had anal sex, but I know nothing about turning on a man, unless I count knowing my own body. I have the feeling that if I think about it too much, I will make it more complicated than need be. So maybe diving in headfirst isn’t such a bad idea. Kissing him is natural. I feel like I have been doing it for ages, not just a few weeks. 

I decide to skip the books and call Draco. It’s getting late and he will be busy around the club before long, putting a stopper on our limited time together. The roll of the line ringing makes my body tense and anxious. The same excitement quakes through me when Draco touches me or stares at me with his smouldering eyes. 

“Hey, pretty bird, I was just thinking about you,” Draco says on the other end of the phone. I can hear the smile in his voice, teasing one to my face in return. I’ve wanted to talk to him all day, but between rehearsals and the talk with Bill, calling Draco is the calm between the storms. It’s good to hear his voice, so calm and inviting, when everything I have heard through the day has been demanding or irritated. 

“Oh yeah? Good or bad thoughts?”

“That depends on your definition of bad,” he says with a snicker. I can only imagine the many things going through his vivid mind. My knowledge of Draco reminds me he is a very sexual creature, just like me. 

I hesitate with my reply when I hear him groan like he did on the phone a few mornings ago. I can feel the warmth already spreading through my body, eager to participate in whatever he decides to initiate.

“I haven’t heard you groan like that in ages,” I reply playfully, wishing now that I wasn’t stuck here in this bedroom with only a small, white door protecting me from the outside world. I have been true to Severus’ request, but I want to see Draco, talk to him face to face. 

“Come over and you can hear more,” he says with a sultry sibilance that goes straight to my burgeoning erection. His wordplay is as delicious as everything else about him, and I find myself falling willingly into his well-laid trap. 

“You know I can’t, not until tomorrow.”

“Pity, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“What were you thinking?”

“About your lips… two cherry-red lips.” He moans again and I wonder what the hell he is doing on the other end of the line. My own imagination takes flight, forcing clear pictures of him spread wantonly, willing me closer with a crook to his finger and cloudy eyes.

“What were they doing?”

“Sucking me, teasing me.” His voice is husky and breathy like the night on the couch, and I recall everything that happened that night, aching from the inside out.

“Fuck, Draco, that’s not fair.”

“Problems, Harry?”

“Yes!” I hiss. 

“Take care of it with me,” he suggests, and feeling slightly embarrassed, I choke as I hear him moan again. “Come on, I will make it up to you tomorrow.”

“What do I do?”

“Whatever you want to do, so long as you are doing it with me.”

“What are you doing?”

“Unbuttoning my trousers, Harry. I wish you could feel how hard I am for you.”

“Draco!”

“What? You are so fucking hot,” he moans and then inhales quickly before speaking again. “Every time I twist my cock, I do it just like when you had me against the wall at your flat, Harry. Hard and fast, it always makes me come quickly. Your hands, teasing me, pulling me so hard until I come into your hand, watching you lick it off…”

My nerve finally ignites, allowing me to say what I want, telling him what I desire from him, and of him. “I want to fuck you, Draco.”

“Please! I want it, Harry. I’m licking my fingers, going to fuck myself for you,” he declares confidently and I hear him suck his fingers softly, and remember how that tongue and those lips worked me so expertly. “I’m on the couch, our couch. I’m not wearing anything, and my legs are spread just for you.”

I am stunned, rubbing the mountain between my legs. I hear his moans and they race through me, pulling me deeper into his spell of rapture. I am caught in the whirlwind of Draco’s lust, quickly flicking the button of my own jeans aside and sliding out of the material as fast as I can. 

“I can feel your body pressed against mine, and your cock pressing inside me, slowly at first and stopping so I can adjust. Your heart is beating so fast I hear it, and feel it pounding through me, nearly splitting me in two. I have never been fucked by a cock so big, Harry. Then you go deeper, and I feel the rush of fire spread through me. I’m so tight around you, can you feel it?”

“Yes, gods, yes,” I say as I close my eyes and tightly massage myself in time with Draco’s words and moans. The warmth is incredible and the more his moans echo into my ears, the more my body begins to surrender to the pleasure, drowning in the perfection of his words. 

“I’m so close, Harry. I want you to feel me,” Draco moans and with each stroke, I, too, moan in response, giving him the fuel to make the flame a wildfire. “Wish you were touching me, those calloused hands of yours holding me still as I writhe beneath you. Fuck, Harry, so good...”

“Draco, gods,” I say before I am lost in the oblivion of mental and physical desires. My mind lets me feel him clamping around me, and I beg for his offering of satiation, “Come for me, love.”

The melody of Draco’s release rips through me, and I wish I could see his face, and those molten-silver eyes behind his long, pale lashes. Are they glowing or are they darker with the obvious answer of his activities written in their depths? 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be right back,” he says softly.

“All right,” I offer, knowing I, too, should clean up and re-dress. Bill could walk in at any moment, and even with our truce, I can’t say I want to let him see me in such a state. Quickly washing my hands and changing pants, putting my pyjamas back on, I rush back my waiting phone. 

“Much better,” he chirps on the other end of the line. “How was your day?”

“Good. I think Bill and I have reached that understanding Severus wanted.”

“That’s good, though, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, slightly distracted by the sounds of my housemates moving around.

“Harry, you know I am in no hurry, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“To have sex. I don’t want you to feel like that’s all I want.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. I want it, more and more everyday. I don’t think I would have ever considered it before you, but it doesn’t bother me. Not like it should… If that makes sense.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying that you think fucking me should bother you because you didn’t consider men an option, or because of something you were raised with?”

“Both. Thinking about it seems to make it hard to swallow, but just doing and feeling works well. I don’t want to compare you to Ginny, you are two totally different people.”

“I should hope so. She doesn’t have a cock.”

“Ah, yes, the most obvious of your differences. That doesn’t bother me, honestly. You haven’t ever slept with a woman, have you?”

“No, I’ve always known I liked men. In fact, I remember after my first kiss, I went and confessed. My father wanted to me to present the ‘proper’ face to the congregation, so I was shoved into mass and had to show that I didn’t think I was above God’s law. It was all a bunch of – what do you call it – bollocks.”

I can’t help the laughter that tears at my chest. He’s already picking up things I say regularly and it makes me happy to know he listens enough to the words I use. I haven’t ever been one to talk a lot, but with him, I want to. Maybe it’s because he actually listens, and Ginny never did. 

“Yeah, bollocks. How many lovers have you had?”

“Three, not including you. What about you?”

“You won’t laugh?”

“No.”

“Just Ginny.”

“Damn, and I thought I was limited. I guess that just shows you aren’t as fickle as I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my first, we grew up together. He’s off playing the political game now, and I haven’t seen him in ages. And then there was Adrian, who you already know about, and Regulus. I grew bored with them, well, except Regulus. He actually taught me things, real things.”

“I guess that’s better than nothing. I didn’t really date much in school. I’ve only ever kissed one person that made my toes curl, though.”

“Is that a compliment, Mr Potter?” Draco asks, I imagine with one eyebrow quirked in an arch, a fine arch of pale hair that my fingers itch to trace. 

“Yes.”

“Go out with me tomorrow? Let’s go get dinner, somewhere simple, and just talk.”

“All right. So I take it Tonks is working out well?”

“Yeah, she’s got all kinds of ideas. She’s going to set up Speed Dating and already has some new drinks on special. She calls them Unforgiveables. I think she named them Crucio, Avada Kedavra and Imperio. I have no idea what that means, but people seem to like them. Crucio is in a tall, thin glass and that Avada-whatever is a shot. Imperio is some weird frozen drink with a lot of layers. I don’t know how the hell she comes up with these things,” he says, and two quick beeps interrupts any further conversation. 

“Draco, hold on a second, yeah? I have another call.”

I switch lines, wondering why the front desk at my building is calling.

“Hullo?”

“Mr Potter?”

“Yes?”

“This is Security Officer Goyle. I’m calling to inform you that someone suspicious was seen around your apartment earlier this evening. We ran him off and Officer Crabbe wasn’t able to catch him, but we need you to come and check if everything is in order. Just to make sure that they didn’t get inside.”

“Fuck! All right. I’ll be right there.”

I switch back to Draco, “Hey, can you pick me up?”

“What’s up? I thought you were supposed to stay there.”

I explain the phone call from Goyle and without hesitation, Draco proclaims he will be right over. I have a bit of time before Draco arrives so I call Severus to inform him of what happened. He isn’t pleased that I am leaving, but I briefly notify him that Bill and I have reached an understanding and he grunts, though whether it’s approval or disapproval, I don’t know. I don’t let the frustration get to me, hoping that nothing is amiss at the flat. When Draco arrives, I give him a long awaited kiss and we head off, continuing our conversation where it left off. I am still debating about telling him what Remus said earlier. But in the spirit of proving the older man wrong, I allow myself to continue to fall into Draco’s life, picking up every detail I can along the way. He only drives with one hand, the other resting on the gear stick, and he generally only plays CDs while in the car. With one hand in my lap and the other relaxing against the armrest, I want to take his lonely hand and comfort it. His long fingers clutch at the gear stick, moving it with fluid ease. I miss driving a manual. At a steady speed until we get back to town, I take a chance, reaching for his fingers. He wraps his around them, smiling softly with a bit of blush rising to his cheeks. It’s so warm when I touch him. Not just his skin against mine, but every part of me becomes warm with something I’ve never felt before. When he’s nervous, he fingers the gear stick, or pushes his hair behind his ear, but I also wonder if he just wants me to pay more attention to him. It’s all these little things that allow me to piece together the puzzle of Draco Malfoy, my Dragon, and I love how much he shows me. My whole world has changed since I met him. 

When we arrive, Draco pulls into the parking garage and we make our way inside. Goyle is waiting for me at the desk along with his sidekick, Crabbe, who happens to be the father of the man that Dudley is fighting next week. 

“So what happened?”

“I was making my rounds, checking to make sure everything was in order, and stopped for a smoke in the garage. There was a suspicious SUV parked outside. When I got to your floor, there was a man in black with dark hair. I didn’t see his face, but since no one checked any visitors in for the evening, I knew something was wrong. Crabbe and I tried to catch him, but he got away. I didn’t even get any of the plate numbers.”

“Did he get in?” I know I don’t have anything particularly valuable, but it is slightly unsettling to know that someone tried to break into my flat. I’m nobody. Even when I was on Broadway, I stayed out of the spotlight as much as possible. I guess it was random, but as long as no one got inside, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. 

“No, I don’t think so. That’s why we called you and not the police. We just need you to check and make sure everything is in order.”

I head to the lift, Draco following behind with Crabbe and Goyle not far in our wake. When we arrive, I don’t see anything wrong, but I open the door anyway. Inside, nothing seems amiss. I leave the others downstairs and look around, checking all of the important things. When I come back down and assure them nothing is amiss, I see Draco browsing my CD and movie collection. With his head turned to the side, he reads title after title. His silky, platinum hair brushes against his shoulder as it tilts with him. I get the urge to move it aside and expose his neck. I notice these thoughts a lot more now, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to explore him. I want to know what touches excite him, and I want to know what it takes to get him spread beneath me the way he described on the phone. 

“See something you like?”

His head snaps up and his hair flutters softy as he turns to me with a crooked smile and says, “Now I do.”

I close the distance between us without a thought and pull him close to me, kissing him, simply enjoying the way his tongue reacts to mine. I feel my entire body reacting, making it so hard not to demand he strip and give me everything I want and more. Feeling his arms wrap around me, encasing me in a protective cocoon, is a feeling I don’t ever want to be without. I pull away, pressing my forehead against him, basking his aura as though he is the sun to my moon. 

“You coming home with me?” he asks breathlessly.

“I shouldn’t. I’m still on house arrest.”

“You already broke the rules, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his softly, just to feel their touch. They part and his sweet breath assails my senses.

“It’s so lonely up there without you,” he whispers, pulling away. “I sound horrible. I have never begged someone to stay with me.” His eyes beg me for acceptance of his invitation, and part of me wants to stay, but the other part of me knows this has the potential to become a routine. I lived with Ginny six years and never knew her. I don’t want that to happen with Draco. 

“Aww, Draco, it’s fine. Besides, I seem to sleep really well when I’m with you,” I answer, reaching for his hand, offering a smile. He allows me to take it and together we leave, riding back to his penthouse. On the way, he calls Tonks and lets her know he won’t be back. It’s still early, so when we arrive at Draco’s, he makes us a light dinner and we talk some more, getting into the small details that bring us closer together. Even if he seems slightly needy, I don’t mind. This is still so new and precious to me, and I want it just as much as he does. 

Since we were at my apartment earlier, I was at least able to get some clothes and one of my spare contact cases. By the time we go to bed, I am still wide-awake, and his shirtless torso spreads across me. I see that silvery scar on his back again, wondering what caused it. Tentatively, I reach out, stroking it softly, feeling each ridge blossom under my fingertips. It’s so smooth even though it looks harsh and ragged. He stirs at my touch, but only slightly. His breathing is deep and even, instilling a sense of calm in my thoughts. Settled here with his body so close to mine, I feel so very content in a way I have never known before. 

In the morning, he wakes me with some juice and some breakfast, just like the last time. The sun peeks through the panes of glass in the large window in his room and each droplet casts small shadows along the floor. I don’t realise I have been watching the rain until Draco snaps his fingers in front of my face with a cheeky grin. 

“Thought I lost you there.”

“No, just watching the rain. Sleep good?” He hasn’t put on a shirt yet and it allows me the opportunity to admire his body. Skin as pale as ceramic dolls shines in the morning sun; I trace the outline of his arms and torso with my eyes, taking in every detail. He’s so proud, like a peacock. He always keeps his chest facing me, as though his back is some blight to the rest of his beauty. Beauty?

“Yes, now give me a kiss. I know you have to leave soon.”

“Demanding this morning, aren’t we?” A cheeky grin paints his face before he playfully swats my arm. 

“Yes, now shut up,” he says, kissing me. His lips steal my breath and without thought, I roll him over, pressing myself against him. He groans loudly, serving to excite me more. All thought leaves as I trail my tongue along his smooth skin, tasting everything unique about him. Each small movement and sound urges me further, until I reach my prize. I like knowing that my touches, my kisses, give birth to the spire of lust between his legs. There is no fighting for dominance, only mutual need leading me forward, until his pants are no longer obstructing my goal. I want to smell and taste him, everything. My tentative licks against his silky, hard shaft let me get lost in the sensation of giving pleasure. I know what I like, but will he like the same thing? I muster my courage, allowing myself to be swept away by the current of the moment. Unsure of how it will feel to take him fully, I close my eyes at his urging and enjoy the moment. With each movement, he pays homage to my efforts with ecstatic cries of pending relief. 

Lost in the wonder of my exploration, with his hand on my head, gripping my hair tighter, my body takes over. There are no thoughts, just desire. In the depths of the most intimate moment, I give more than I ever have. His thickness fills my mouth, making it water with the anticipation of what’s to come; only, I want it to last. My confidence swells, and I reach for his sac, massaging it gently before gripping the base of his cock, stroking him in time with each lick against his swollen head. Even though I start to feel the strain on my jaw, I don’t stop. With no more warning than a brief silence and a very throaty moan, I taste everything. All the salty sweetness of him spills forth for me to devour and I like it. All I hear is the thump of my heart in my chest and his final grunts of passion that leave me achingly hard. 

“You sure put a lot of effort into things once you start, don’t you?” he finally asks as I release his fading erection.

“I think that teachers used to say I was impulsive.”

“I can see that. I don’t mind at all,” he says, reversing our positions. “I think your mouth was made for me.” Now he is above me, taking the same path down my body, giving to me exactly what I gave him moments before. I try to fight the feeling, but the explosion from his efforts sets my body on fire, and I crumble to ash before I feel renewed. After a nice long shower together, touching and exploring the many quirks one another’s bodies, it is time for me to leave. I steal a kiss before I go, feeling like life just began for me.


	18. Seeing You, Seeing Me

Chapter 18: Seeing You, Seeing Me  
Draco’s POV – Wednesday – 6 October 2005

 

Watching Harry leave after another night together is one of the newest heartbreaks in my life. I don’t want him to leave. Why does he have to seem so perfect, even in his moments of weakness? I am used to certain reactions when bad things happen, and his are nothing like I expect. He takes everything with calm strides, hiding his disappointment or true emotions with practised ease. I am so predictable when it comes to emotions. If I am upset, I withdraw, taking with me all the warmth I am capable of giving to a person. I don’t understand it. There is always something more creeping just beneath the surface, something I need to get to the bottom of. He never talks about the Dursleys, he never talks about his parents… granted, I never talk about mine, but I have good reason. The man I call Father made my life hell. I know Harry won’t be patient for long about the scar… he wants to know what happened, and the only question remaining is: do I trust him? If I can trust him, there is no reason not to tell him what happened, but if I feel like telling him will change things, I don’t want to share my faults. 

I’m glad Harry came back with me last night. Being at his place is fine, but it’s still a little unnerving to know that he shared that place with that woman. That and I didn’t think it was a good idea to hang around when someone potentially dangerous was lurking around Harry’s place. Why would anyone want to break into Harry’s flat? I can’t see him being important enough for someone to take anything from him. I mean, sure, there could be drug addicts looking for things to sell, but I can’t see Harry having anything worth that much attention. It may be nothing, but I didn’t want to take any chances. His security detail seems to be able enough, although I might be wrong. I don’t mind having Harry at my place. Him being here lets me get to know him better; it lets me see more of his personal habits and quirks. 

I know nothing about being close to someone. All of the people I know are acquaintances, even the people at the support group. The only reason they know my name is a few figured out who I was before I let my hair grow. They are bound to secrecy, though. I’m not a bad person, but the price for my location is much higher than I am willing to pay. It may not be worth much, but my life is my own, and I will not allow my psychotic father to rule over it. There is so much beauty in this world, beauty that he would see tainted with his iron thumb. My relationship with Harry would not exist, and most likely, neither would Harry, knowing him. I’ve never loved anyone before, but I think that I could love Harry, be in love with him, and I don’t want to chance losing him. If I surrender to a false truce, I will regret it, and there is only one thing in my life that I am not willing to give up, and that is Harry. Not when he’s unlike everyone else I know. He’s so idealistic in a way that I am not. He can easily see things as he wants to see them, whereas I see them for what they are. At least, that is my impression of him. He sees the world through rose-coloured glasses, content with things as they are, accepting in a way that I am not. Maybe that’s the selfish part of me rearing its ugly head. 

I haven’t moved from the bed since Harry left. I take the time to look out the window, watching the droplets of rain roll down the glass. I can see how he looks at it, getting lost in it. I, too, find myself getting lost in simplicity. However uncharacteristic it is, I like being able to admire things and I’d like to see them, not as they are. Two months ago, I wouldn’t be waxing poetic about the rainfall. I would be damning God for his inability to keep the days bright and beautiful. Is Harry already working his way so deep into my soul? What if Ginny tries to reconcile with him? What will happen if she comes back? Will Harry leave me as fast as he professed his desire to be my partner? I don’t think I can go back to the start, never feeling anything for him. There is no way I can be his friend, not if she is in his life; especially not when he’s already given so much of himself to me emotionally. The physical parts aren’t a requirement, but they are important, at least to me. Touching him and being touched by him is new to me every time. But with every meeting, he touches the depths of my heart that I thought were dead. His smile always begs one of me, and I oblige, knowing that to deny the urge will only make life less enjoyable. I don’t think Harry is going anywhere, even if she came back begging and pleading. He didn’t seem too pleased with her when he told me what happened. 

I don’t understand how someone can lose a child and keep it a secret from the man that obviously cared for the mother and unborn child. I suppose this new development serves to remind me why children are better left to people with patience, and an abundance of love. What she hoped to accomplish by her charade, I do not know. From the little information given, and that I have taken from seeing Harry’s flat, Ginny isn’t cut out for motherhood anyway. Most of the mothers I know are horrible creatures, usually carrying around martinis at midday and shoving their children into the political fast track. They want the most robust offspring, letting their husbands tame the youth with stern hands and cold emotions, while mothers ignore them or indulge every desire. Ginny seems like that type of woman to me. I honestly have nothing against women, it’s the women that make me glad I am gay… those with curled lashes reaching their eyebrows, fluttering them whenever a man walks passed. The women who accept less than they are worth because it’s easy. Men do the same thing. I have seen many men enter relationships with other men or women because it was easy. Why does everyone seem to have this idea that relationships are easy? They are work, but the payoff is so rich, I can’t see anyone accepting less than they are worth. I can’t see Harry taking less than he is worth, being content with the scraps that she gave. Even with my limited experience in healthy relationships, I can see that what Harry had with her wasn’t what it seemed. Maybe I’m reading more into his past than I should, but I find it unavoidable. 

I miss you. I bet she does. I am not sure if I should feel bad for invading Harry’s personal space and replying to her message or not. Feeling bad would mean I did something wrong, and I don’t think I did. I think I made it clear to her that Harry was not at her disposal any longer. She has no claim over him. I have a feeling that Harry won’t see it the same way, but I am willing to take that chance. I know that deep down, he will see my action for what it is, not what someone makes it. I want to protect him. He doesn’t deserve any more heartbreak at her hands. She moulded and shaped things the way she wanted them, and I have a feeling that Harry spent a lot of his time just trying to fit into the cast she fired for him. It makes me angry to know that she can think it’s her place to leave his life and then come back whenever she chooses. Everything about her screams convenience. She packed everything and left without a word, without an explanation… I know it hurt Harry, but I have to say I am glad she left. I am glad that I wasn’t forced into a situation where a crazy girlfriend would begin seeking me out for her personal vendetta. God only knows how she would have reacted to the fact of Harry getting hard from kissing a man. For some reason, I think that would be a worse offence than him kissing another woman. I have to admit, I, too, am territorial, but knowing that Harry is not attracted to Bill at all makes things much easer. If he was, I think there might be a problem, because I don’t want to share. I don’t want a lover who enjoys finding sexual gratification with anyone but me. I am a demanding lover, but I respect those I bed. At least I do now. When I was fifteen years old, all I cared about was how much instant gratification could be achieved in the shortest amount of time. Now that I am adult, I want to enjoy every part of the experience, even down to the less desirable aspects. I wonder if Harry understands that I want to fuck him; I want to make love to him. I want to feel him above me, below me, and any way I can have him. 

My plans for this evening are already set. I know where I want to take him and what I want to show him while we are out. There is a little place off Diagon Alley called Hogsmeade Station. It’s a small restaurant with an intimate setting in an old train. Most people prefer to dine inside the refurbished caboose, but there is also a patio outside on a raised platform for the more adventurous. If the weather improves, an early October evening is perfect for wooing him softly. I’ve only ever seen Hogsmeade Station in passing, but people talk enough that I have heard of the food and service that accompanies a visit to the quaint eatery. The advantages to a restaurant like Hogsmeade Station is it’s less intimidating. Aberforth’s Alcove can easily overwhelm you if you aren’t used to the atmosphere. Personally, I prefer the smaller, more intimate settings, but taking Harry to the Alcove was irresistible. I had to show him what I am capable of and that I am the kind of man who spares no expense when it comes to getting what I want. It’s easy to flaunt money, but I don’t think that will win Harry; no, being myself will win him over. I can’t play the son of Lucius Malfoy, I have to be Dragon, the real me. Draco is simply a name given to express my father’s dissatisfaction with the circumstances surrounding my birth. Dragon is the real me, the me that doesn’t hide, because he doesn’t have to. 

The rain finally bores me enough that I lie back against the bed, inhaling the lingering scent of passion and Harry. He always smells earthy and natural, like a man. He has yet to display any desire to be a peacock like me. I like smelling good, whether it’s the latest designer scent or something that attracts my attention. In the myriad of smells, I can’t imagine admiring one so simple, but I do. I have always liked attention, and that’s what got me in trouble a lot in school. In those days, I had a flair for dramatics, but as time went by, I learned from the verbal and physical beatings. Showing a “proper” face was the only face. I think he stopped reciting the line when I beat him to it. It was insolence because I stopped him from humiliating me, or telling me what I was going to do. Lucius is the reason I am the way I am. His brutal truths and constant interference have been the hands to shape me, even if I have grown from most of it. Giving me nothing more than the most critical of praise suited him, even when I graduated at the top of my class. He wanted me to attend Harvard or Princeton, only I couldn’t be bothered with law. I wanted something else, I wanted my own empire to construct and deconstruct as needed. So I worked hard and became a businessman. His façade of perfection crumbled around him so easily. If he were a better man, I might have followed in his footsteps, naively allowing myself to be led by those who were deaf, dumb, and blind. Fortunately for me, I had more sense than allowing myself to be caught in the web of lies and deception that rules his life. 

If there is one person I can honestly say I am close to, it is Pansy. She and I have known each other since I started the support group. As a friend, I have listened to her many troubles with men, wishing that at least one of them could appreciate her for more than a quick lay. Monday after the meeting, it was my turn to discuss my fears…

“Pans, how are you, dear?” I say, hugging her tight. 

“Good enough. You seemed distracted today, something bothering you?”

“No, not particularly. I’ve got a new partner. It’s still new, though.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t want to jinx it, Pans. Forgive me for not telling you?”

“Fine, but I expect an explanation after it leaves this ‘new phase’.”

“Deal. And what about you? I saw you and Millie getting a bit closer. Did you finally give in and go out with her?”

Pansy’s face erupts with a blush, and the waitress interrupts us to get our drink orders. The unofficial leader of the support group has finally taken steps to control her life. I can appreciate her finding what makes her happy and going for it, because I, too, am struggling with searching for the same. 

“Yes. Things are good, much better than I expected, and the sex is fantastic!”

I can’t help laughing, I am happy for Pansy. She’s spent a lot of time looking for happiness. 

“That’s good. I wish you the best of luck.”

She eyes me for a moment, and cocks an eyebrow before speaking. “Tell me what this impromptu lunch is all about, Draco. You never want to get together after the meetings.”

“It’s complicated.” I sigh, knowing she won’t leave me alone. After all, I did ask her to lunch. “I’m worried that not trusting him is going to complicate things.”

“So just trust him.”

“You know it isn’t that easy, Pans. I mean, what if he has ties to my father? What if he leaves after he learns about my past?”

“Draco, hon, you can’t run away from everything. If you can’t trust people, then what’s the point of having a relationship? It’s all based on trust. I know that things are complicated for you, and you haven’t told me a lot, but I don’t hold that against you. I can understand your apprehension, but don’t let it keep you from what you want. If he leaves, then trust him to respect you enough not to divulge your secrets.

“One of these days you will learn that ‘his’ control over you isn’t as powerful as you think. All ‘he’ does is play on your fear. Don’t let ‘him’ do that any more.”

“I know. Hard to break out of old habits.”

“I know, but that’s why you have friends who give it you straight. I missed our new fella today; do you know anything about him?” she asks, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh, no, nothing,” I lie. Pansy doesn’t need to know about Harry yet. In due time, but not yet. Not until I know I can trust him. Trust is a fickle thing. If I tell him, there is the potential for disaster… but if I don’t tell him, the same is true. Pansy is right. Now how to deal with it?

Of all the things memories give to me, I think perspective is the most telling. Trying to overcome the past through analysing the events that brought me to where I am. At least I can look forward to taking Harry out tonight. Business before pleasure, though. I have neglected my club in favour of spending more time with Harry. I don’t regret the time spent with him, but it will be difficult to bring it out of its current rut if I can’t even manage to stay focussed on what’s important. Not to say that Harry isn’t, but if I’m just wasting money, I need to come up with some alternative methods of ensuring the club lives on. If I have to limit the number of days it’s open, or raise prices, I will. 

After making sure everything at the club is in order – checking paperwork, inventorying supplies, accounting and upkeep – I head back to my place and wait for Harry. Being meticulous pays off, at least I can kill enough time to slightly quell the rising exuberance I feel. I want to look good for Harry tonight. Browsing through my closet for appropriate attire for the evening, I pick a pair of grey woollen trousers and a black button-down shirt. I think it’s casual enough, and there is no reason for a blazer. The weather is still holding around seventy-degrees, but it will drop as the evening shadows us with her imposing presence. Personally, I like the evening better than the day. Something about the night screams mystery, making every corner potentially dangerous. No matter how old I get, I think I will always find obscure appreciation for the simplest of things. 

The telephone ringing quickly brings me out of my thoughts of the evening. I am glad I made reservations. It isn’t exactly the most well-known of restaurants, but their seating is limited due to the nature of the establishment. The bell of the elevator rings and I greet a smiling Harry with a quick peck on the cheek, which he dismisses as nothing, demanding more of me. I must say I like the way he can tell me what he wants without saying a word. His lips are demanding, but I don’t mind. The kiss isn’t passionate and earth-shattering, but it is the kind of kiss that makes me feel like this man really wants me. It is an invigorating kiss that defies the cynics, tugging at every heartstring until I feel like I am humming a minuet. Reluctantly I pull away, because I am hungry and certain needs require attending before anything else. 

“Hello to you, too. Hard day?”

“You’ve no idea,” he says softly, wrapping me in his strong embrace. I accept, and playfully he rocks us back and forth while keeping his eyes locked on mine. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

The ride to the ground floor is comfortably silent. Harry pulls my hand to his, taking it in his, entwining his shorter fingers in mine. When the doors part, I lead the way, still clutching his hand. 

“So where are we going?” he asks with a warm smile. I have to admire his choice of clothing. We are almost identical, except his shirt is open, with another beneath it. Our trousers are nearly the same shade of grey, although his are darker. It seems he at least understands colour coordination. 

“It’s a surprise,” I riposte with a mischievous grin. “But I think you will like it.”

“Oh, so you only think I will like it. That says something for your observational skills I think.”

“Ah, well, when you are dissatisfied, you will let me know, won’t you?”

I steal a quick glance at him and see the flush rising to his cheeks. I feel accomplished with that one act. To know that he is still slightly embarrassed by the little things means I can enjoy that wonderful tinge each time he mistakes my meaning. I’m glad to see that he did catch my meaning, even if I truly only meant my choice in dining. When we pull into the parking lot, he inhales and I hear a faint ‘wow’ as he looks around. Hogsmeade Station lives up to its quaint reputation. There are two rails beneath the boxcar and another that serves as the kitchen. Both train cars are painted brick red with elegant lights strung along the eaves the roof. A black chain-link fence encloses the cement patio. The foliage twines through each hole, offering warm scents as well as a veil between the intermittent traffic. The patio Ls around the two train cars, and provides passage for wait staff and those who prefer to dine inside. There is only one couple braving the fickle elements, so I think asking for a table outside is our best bet. It will be private and a little more intimate. The small round tables have cushioned chairs and three-tier candelabras on each, inviting guests to spend the evening holding hands and whispering sweet nothings. 

“This is really cool,” Harry says as I take his hand, leading him up the stairs with hurricane lanterns on each one. They provide unobtrusive luminance in the fading daylight, but also add ambiance to such a simple place. His eyes are alight with child-like wonder, just taking everything in around him. His head darts back and forth at everything; he is like a sponge, soaking up his surroundings. We take our table, and eat, enjoying comfortable conversation. No one seems to bother us, but Harry tenses when more people arrive, watching us. I can feel his hand slacken slightly and the rest of him grow rigid as our server offers a professional distance, but still showing her distaste for our affection. Talking to him about it might help, but I think it will take time as he adjusts. Being gay is only as easy as you make it, at least that’s the way I see it. If he worries about everyone else’s perception, he won’t be able to appreciate the finer things of our relationship. Granted, I don’t appreciate the stares, but he puts himself on stage for everyone to see, and partially naked, if I am to understand the play he’s working on now. Now I see why he doesn’t mind when I look at him. I like looking at him naked, though, and should he ask, I will answer him honestly every time. 

Something is still troubling me, and that is the way Severus keeps treating him. He confides in me that the tension has been ongoing since the day we arrived at Remus’ home together and that is unsettling. We are both adults, and granted Severus doesn’t want anything to happen to us, but he should know that we wouldn’t be pursuing a relationship just to spite him. Pansy’s words ring loudly in my psyche, reminding me that if I continue to fear my father’s madness, I will only end up losing out on the best parts of life. It doesn’t make me any less angry with him, but I won’t let it dictate my actions forever. 

Instead of going back to the car, I lead Harry to the small park nearby on foot. He lets me take his hand again, which brings a smile to my face. We walk close together, our arms brushing as they sway in time with each step. It is a short walk, and the site I am looking for creeps up on us before I can cover his eyes and hide our destination from his view. The large sign outside the circular enclosure tips him off and he reads it aloud. “‘Time-Turner Well’. What’s this, Draco?”

“This is an old legend. How long have you lived here, Harry?”

“Forever it seems.”

“And you’ve never been here?”

“The Dursleys weren’t keen on taking me out, Draco. They made sure I got to school and ate minimally, but they didn’t take me out of the house. By the time I left this place, I never thought I would be back. I didn’t exactly have any places to miss. There was a little park nearby, but that’s where Dudley spent most of his time taunting me. He would bring a gang of his friends with him, and finally, when I had trained long enough, that’s when I broke his nose. I didn’t want to deal with him anymore. But he was the special one, so I only saw him in the summers. He went to some expensive school called Smeltings. I spent most of my childhood wearing his old clothes. They liked to remind me that my parents were drunks and good for nothing. But I still remember their faces and I don’t think they were bad people.”

I look at Harry, feeling slightly hurt by his admission. How can the people charged with the care of a child do that to them? 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t know.”

“No, it’s all right. It made me stronger, I suppose,” he says, not looking at me. “So tell me about this place. What kind of legend is it?”

“Before this became Scottsland, native tribes roamed this area. There was a young man who loved a woman dearly, but during a battle against another tribe, she was killed. In his anger, he cursed the gods for taking his love away and stumbled across this well in the middle of nowhere. He knelt at the base of it and prayed that he could turn back time so that he could save his love from death. It is said that as people settled here, they could see the man and woman walking together at night, hand in hand. It’s all very cliché, but now it’s just a wishing well. I just thought you might like it.”

He walks to the edge of the haphazardly piled rocks and looks over the edge. I can see him thinking, trying to figure out a wish, possibly. “What would you wish for, Harry?”

He remains silent for a few moments, resting his hands on the stones. He continues to drown in the depths of the small construct and sighs heavily. “I’d wish to know my parents.”

I can understand his desire. I, too, wish I had known my mother. I have one photo of her, a photo showing my life growing within her, and one photo to see how much I really do look like her. I give him a few moments and he speaks again, softly this time, “Thank you, Draco.”

He is still looking into the well when I arrive at his side, and I place a penny in his hand. He looks at me with a meek smile and throws the coin into the dark tunnel with his eyes closed. Then he takes my hand and leads us back to the car. 

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” I ask, afraid of his answer.

“I don’t know if I should. I am supposed to be getting used to being around Bill, and I’ve spent the last few days avoiding him. That’s why Severus had us move into that house, because we don’t have a lot of time before the show opens. It’s unorthodox, but leave it to Severus to put all of us in this situation.”

“I understand. I guess we should get you back to your car, then. It’s a long drive back to Remus’.”

I think I am hiding my disappointment well enough for the time being. Harry takes my hand in what I can only guess is reassurance, and I get lost in the warmth of his fingers wrapped around mine. The walk back to the car is short, but when we arrive, something catches my attention, something that I can’t ignore.

A man and two young children are leaving Hogsmeade Station, and he has his hands wrapped around their small arms tightly. Each of the young children wears a grimace of pain, and seeing this brings back memories I have long tried to forget: memories of my own father doing the same. The man’s face is set angrily, and as one of the children finally gives in to their suffering and cries, a large, adult hand crashes against the child’s face. An even louder cry erupts into the night and the other child, possibly the younger one, shoves past his father to stand between the man and his sibling. 

“Daddy! Stop!” the smaller one cries out, holding his arms out.

“Get out of the way!”

“No, Daddy, no!” the larger of the children cries and begins to run, but the father catches up quickly and clamps down on the boy’s arm again.

“What did I tell you? I expect good behaviour when we are in public! You can’t even sit still at a table for five minutes!”

“It hurts, Daddy!”

The scene before me pisses me off, making me want to intervene and punch this coward who takes his anger out on his children. He doesn’t loosen his grip or change his tone until people start to come outside to see what the commotion is all about. 

“Come on, Draco, let’s go,” Harry says, but I barely hear him, watching a familiar scene. 

“Not yet,” I reply and walk over to the man, and put my hand on his shoulder. He looks at me and releases the child from his grasp, which is all I wanted.

“What do you want?”

“I think you should leave before someone gets hurt,” I say as calmly as possible. My emotions are running wild as I stare this man down, willing him to argue.

“Don’t tell me how to deal with my kids,” the stocky man says, pushing me slightly. I barely move, but I think it’s sheer will keeping me planted, not courage.

“I wouldn’t have to if you knew what you were doing,” I growl in response. His eyes grow wide with disbelief and he grabs my arm, digging his fingers in as hard as he can. It hurts, but I don’t feel it as I watch the children climb into a car, settling on the seat together, offering one another comfort.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he says and releases his hold on my arm. I feel someone behind me, and a hand on the small on my back. I can only assume it’s Harry, but it doesn’t matter. 

I pull away and get in the car, refusing to speak. I’m not sure my voice would work right now, anyway. On the drive back to Slytherin Tower, Harry tries to take my hand, but I refuse, not wanting to taint us with my inability to control my emotions.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reply, feeling the ice prickling my tongue as I speak. 

“And I’m a flying horse! What the hell was that all about?”

“It’s nothing, Harry. Can we just drop it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he says adamantly, never turning his gaze from me. I can see him out of my peripheral vision, and I feel relieved when I turn into the parking garage for the Tower. Finally, inside my home, I turn to Harry to see his eyes and face swimming with questions. 

“Can I not be upset by a parent mistreating their child?”

“Yes, but I don’t think people normally get involved, Draco.”

“Harry, I will see you later. You should leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you stupid git,” he says, exhaling heavily. “I want an explanation.”

At least he waited until we were upstairs before raising his voice. 

“I don’t think I can offer one, Harry.”

“So you are telling me you just randomly interfered in a man’s discipline of his children for no reason? I find that hard to believe, Draco. Your face told me everything I needed to know, now why can’t you just admit it?”

“Because it isn’t important.”

He throws his hands up in the air and walks towards the sitting room. I follow, but only because I would rather have this discussion, or not have this discussion, sitting. He throws himself on one end on the couch, crossing one leg over the other in an L-shape. 

“This is just like that night at Aberforth’s Alcove. The night you had to feel something, and let that woman beat you. What the hell? Why would you do something like that? Are you going to leave here and ask her to do it again?”

I don’t answer; instead, I take a seat on one of the corner pieces of the couch and just look at him. I don’t understand why he is so upset. He’s acting as though I attacked the man. It is a strange catharsis, one that I don’t think he will understand. How do I explain this to him? He didn’t have parents, and he says that his cousin was the one he fought with…

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“I don’t think it matters that much, Harry. You act like you agree with what he was doing.”

“No, I act like I’m concerned with your behaviour. What that wanker did was wrong, but I don’t see what you accomplished by it!”

“Did you see the children get in the car?”

He looks at me for a moment, confused. “Yes.”

“Then I did exactly what I meant to do.”

“Which was what exactly, make him angrier?”

I didn’t think about that. Now I feel bad; what if he hurts them more because of what I did? Why didn’t I think? Am I becoming careless because of Harry? I can’t blame him for my actions, but I wonder if I would have paid attention if it weren’t for Harry. Normally I could care less about the things going on around me. It is so unlike me to get involved with other people's problems, so I don’t know why I did it then. I am being careless. I’m not protecting myself and already a part of me regrets even letting Harry get this close. I feel like I’m losing part of myself. 

“I’m guessing that you didn’t think about that, did you?”

I refuse to look at him and acknowledge that he’s right. I wonder how much longer before he finally gets tired of waiting for a response. He stands and walks over to the bookshelves, messing with them before stopping to look out over the city. I watch as he stands there, just looking, until he finally turns and our eyes lock. I can see he’s hurt by my refusal to answer his questions, but I don’t know what to do. 

“I’m going home. See you around,” he says, and I hear his footsteps retreating. Fuck! I don’t know what to do. I chance giving more of myself to him than anyone else and the thought scares me to death. I don’t want to be afraid of talking to him and giving myself, especially when he has given me so much of himself already. He’s sacrificed his comfort, allowing me to maintain my hold on him while he dined, and even telling me bits about his past. What kind of person am I? Will I let him walk away without saying anything and sitting back to watch as our relationship crumbles? If I sit here and wait, it won’t go away, but telling him about my past will complicate things, and I don’t know if either of us is ready for complicated yet. He told me about Ginny, possibly fearing rejection as well… he told me about his dead child, he told me about his cousin. Why am I unwilling to give him the same in return? 

I’m such a coward. I don’t deserve him if I can’t admit to my faults. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with telling him why it upset me, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with being honest. Relationships are too damn complicated, and I am about to throw away the healthiest one I have ever been given. Can I live with myself if I let him leave and not give him the answers he desires? The chime rings for the elevator and I have two roads to choose from: stop him before he can get inside the elevator or let him go.


	19. My Sacrifice - His Offering

Chapter 19: My Sacrifice – His Offering  
Draco’s POV – Friday – 7 October 2005

 

“Harry, wait!” I call out, hoping that the elevator doors haven’t closed on him already. I hurry to the hallway to see him standing by the table in the foyer, his arms crossed over his chest and his face curling in a crooked smile. Did he know I wouldn’t let him leave?

“I was wondering how long it would take you.” He chuckles and takes me in his arms. I feel his warmth envelop me like a soft blanket. It reminds me of Bella, when she would hold me after Father delivered one of his many emotional slaps. She always knew how to make me feel better about things. If I didn’t know she wasn’t my mother, I would have thought her so, based on the way she cared for me. I remember the last time I saw her, and the last conversation we had like it was yesterday. And then the softness of Harry’s voice tears at me again. “Draco, I know it isn’t easy, but it’s frustrating when you want to get to know someone and they close themselves off. I had enough of that with Ginny; I don’t want that with you, too.”

I return his embrace, barely listening to what he says. This is the first time I have been too shocked to care about his words. I can’t believe he stayed. This is the first time I have pushed someone away and they’ve refused to budge. It’s all so new to me and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to deal with it. Allowing Harry into the madness of my life could put him at risk, the kind of risk involving life and death. He deserves an explanation; he deserves to know at least a part of my truth, so he can make the decision for himself about what being with me means. 

“How did you know?” I ask, looking at him. I hope he can see the thanks in my eyes for him staying. If he had left, I would have never seen him again, because I couldn’t face trying to patch things up with him, not like this. Not after being such a coward.

“I didn’t. I hoped.” He smells so good; it is so soft, and it reeks of innocence. 

“Ah, well, I think you got lucky that I like you so much,” I say, offering him a smile. The corners of his mouth quirk upward and he takes my hand, leading me back to the couch. He takes a seat and urges me to sit as well, but when I sit with my back stiff and resolve crumbling, he nudges me. His face is very soft, not at all hard like I expect. There are thin worry lines on his forehead, but nothing to indicate anger, just the willingness to listen. I don’t deserve this.

“Lie down,” he says. “Put your head in my lap. Relax a little. I won’t leave you.”

I won’t leave you. Those words have more power over my decision to accept his invitation than the look in his eyes. His eyes are so warm and inviting, and after kicking off my shoes, I curl up on my side, resting my head on his thigh. I feel his muscles tense slightly as my head settles on him. It only lasts for a moment, and then he’s back to the man I have come to adore. Placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, I feel his fingers knead it slightly before the tips dance up my neck, and twine themselves into my hair. I wonder where my voice has gone when I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out, but I think I like this. For now, I am content lying here as he rakes his fingers through my hair and lightly massages my scalp. I want to lie here like this all night, enjoying the touches he offers, and the calming presence he radiates. 

His fingers find my cheek, caressing it softly, leaving trails of fire and ice in their wake. I almost want a drink, something to hide behind like I gave to Harry only a few long weeks ago when he first walked into my life. I want that same consideration. His breathing is so steady, unlike mine; I feel like my lungs may explode if I hold it in any longer. With slow, determined breaths, I begin, not sure where to start.

“I grew up across the state, near Virginia, in Raleigh. My father’s family grew up there as well. My grandfather, Abraxas, raised him to be a hateful man, one to fear.” I feel the choking sob that wants to come out, my body trembling slightly, and Harry continues to offer support with his hands and soft comforting words. With his encouragement, I continue. “I don’t know much about my father’s past overall because we never had a conversation that didn’t involve my faults as his only son. My nanny, Auntie Bella, practically raised me. I told you before that my mother died in childbirth, so the only mother I knew was this woman who lived with us all year round.

“She had no family to speak of, but I think she was married. I’m not sure, because if she did see her husband, it was only when my father didn’t require her to tend to me. He spent a lot of time away from home, and when he was there, he ignored me. Of course, if I did well in school, then he would praise me the only way he knew how, with criticism. If I got lower than a ninety-five on a quiz, he demanded that Bella take me to the library in on our Estate and quiz me until I could recite the answers in my sleep. Bella was always so loving toward me, she doted on me as though I were her child. She told me once that I was a very special child and that I was stronger than my father was, so I shouldn’t fear him.

“I never knew my grandfather, but Bella assures me I was much better off without knowing him. She used to tell me stories about how he would terrorise my father just to make a point. It seems that he enjoyed making people fear him through physical violence. Bella said that my father once spent an entire night underneath the front porch of our home because Abraxas chased him out of the house with a butcher’s knife. And there were many such stories over the years. How she knew these things, I don’t know.”

The tears I’m trying to fight are beginning to burn my eyes and I feel each one trickle down the curves of my nose. I won’t leave you. Reminding myself of his words seems to give me the strength to continue my story, and if that doesn’t work, then his gentle hands do the job, no problem. 

“Bella had bright, wild eyes and black hair. She was tall, for a woman, and slender as a rail. Her voice was always soft, and full of southern patronisation, but never with me. With me, she was always kind and gentle. She fought my father constantly about allowing me to have friends or just that he should treat me better. It wasn’t long after that that she and I had a talk about my mother. She knew her; they grew up together, went to the same school and even had the same boyfriend ages ago. 

“Auntie told me that my mother, Narcissa, was beautiful and should have married someone else, and then maybe she would have been happier. But instead of telling me about my mother’s faults, Bella always made sure to tell me the good things. My mother was a philanthropist, always dedicating time to working with children less fortunate than her and her family. It always made me think of her as a princess, and Bella would just smile and tell me that was the best way to see her."

“This is so hard, Harry. I don’t know what else to say,” I mumble between the tears. He’s being so patient with me, and I am still holding back. 

“Shh, Draco, it’s okay. Just say what you want to say. Why did seeing that man with those children make you so angry?”

“My father ignored me, like I said. When he was home, he was angry. And I just wanted his attention, I wanted him to notice me the same way Bella did. When I was young, I just wanted to be with him, but he didn’t have time for that. There were always people coming over for fancy dinners and he would parade me around like a perfect child. If I wriggled in my seat, he would spank me, or if I spilled food by accident, he might throw a plate or a glass in his anger. It was insanity, but Bella was always there to pick up the pieces afterwards. 

“I think I would have gone insane if she hadn’t been there. If he ever made any marks, he had a private doctor come take care of everything and then strong-armed their silence. He had no problem making threats on anyone and I know he will deliver on them, Harry. He’s a dangerous man and I don’t want you getting caught up in this mess. This is so complicated… he makes everyone fear him, but with good reason. He’s always been ambitious, but there’s so much more to it than that. He’s insane. Sure, when I was little, he took care of me, and did things for me, but not the same way Bella did. And when I turned seven or eight, he stopped hugging me or tucking me in at night. He said, ‘Draco, you are a man now, and men don’t need hugs.’ But I was starving for his attention.”

It hurts; it hurts to tell Harry this. I want him to see what being with me could cost him. It’s taking so much to admit all of this. I am not strong, I never have been, and Lucius proved that when I was fifteen years old. 

“Do you need a break?” Harry asks softly.

“No, I’m fine. I would rather get it all out now, because I don’t know if I am strong enough to do it again.”

“Take your time, love. I’m right here.”

His voice is always so calm and reassuring, making me feel safe. I am no longer hiding my tears, and Harry’s hand hasn’t wavered from my shoulder, still coaxing the words from me. 

“Harry, he had my mother killed! That son of a bitch had my mother killed. He thought she was having an affair, so right after I was born, someone on the hospital staff failed to give her insulin or something, and he just let her die. He had no qualms with it. I mean, it’s all hearsay, but I believe what Bella said. I was walking down the hall and his office door was open, so I stopped and listened while he talked to one of his men. They were all in the same Fraternity in college; Death Eaters, that’s what they called themselves. Some man named Mulciber was there, and my father told him he wanted all the loose ends tied up. He said that Bella knew too much about Narcissa and that someone needed to deal with her. 

“I did the only thing I could. I ran until my legs hurt and hid until nightfall, hoping that they wouldn’t come after me too. Bella found me before it got too late and took me back to the main house. She said she wanted to talk to me. When we got to my room, she said that she was leaving and that I needed to be a man. I was seventeen, getting ready to leave for college, and so much had already happened that my head was spinning. She was happy that I was going to get away from him, and gave me the phone number of a man to call, saying that he could help me. 

“Severus was the man she said to call. It seems she told him about a lot of things, but I don’t know why. But Severus and Remus took me in, they both protected me, gave me a new name, and I enrolled in college and left all of the madness of my former life behind. I left the country and went to Japan, but after a month in Shinjuku, I was ready to come home. I had learned a lot and just wanted to start my life. I had enough money to keep running and hiding, but there was no point. I didn’t want to hide forever, but I was still hiding. I never got close to anyone and took all of my problems to Severus and Remus… They really are like parents to me, same with Bella. 

“They did so much. They helped me transfer all of the money my mother left me into bank accounts that my father couldn’t touch. But not long after I moved here, I found out that Bella was dead. I wanted to find her and tell her that I was doing well, that I had grown into a man and was happy. Severus sent me a copy of her obituary and I knew my father had that man, Mulciber, take care of her like he said, but I was too naïve to understand it then. Harry, this is a mess, being with me will only cause you problems. Regulus, he was dying so I never bothered with getting close to him. 

“But I want to be close to you, I want to learn as much as I can about you and share myself with you. And I don’t want anything to happen to you, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because you are with me.”

Harry moves, his leg shifting from underneath my head and I look up to him kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. His eyes are so soft and inviting, but there are unshed tears glistening at me from the top of their depths. He wraps his arms around me with the strength of ten men, rubbing my back gently, and I cry harder, knowing that he isn’t going anywhere. 

“I’m old enough to make my own decisions, Draco. Don’t you ever forget that. You were ready to send me away without letting me make the choice, but it isn’t your choice to make. I have this theory that we meet people for a reason, and I haven’t regretted a day of knowing you. You are stuck with me for now, and no coward like your father is going to make me leave. Do you understand?” he says with soft determination. His voice trembles slightly with the emotion, but he’s firm, which makes me feel more courageous. 

“Harry, I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not your fault, Draco. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

It seems like forever that he holds me, letting me cry, letting me deal with the emotions I haven’t acknowledged in ages. Then I hear him whisper softly in my ear, “I’ll stay with you tonight if you want.”

I nod, and he pulls back, looking at me, then wipes one of the tears away as it trails down my cheek, leaving a salty highway behind. He cups my cheek and offers a warm kiss, not a needy one, but one that lets me know he means exactly what he said, that he wouldn’t leave, that he will stay with me. It feels so good to have opened up to him, but now there are more bumps in the road, the warnings that Severus gave, the potential that Lucius will find out where I am, no matter what precautions have been used. He pulls away and traces the curve of my wet cheek with his thumb, and I lean into the touch, longing for so much more. This is the sort of adoration I feel like I have been missing in life. Not being able to open up to anyone has seriously crippled me over the years; emotionally I have become dependant on being disdainful and distant with everyone, and I don’t want that anymore. I want to give all I can to Harry in return for his kindness.

“Tell me about Aberforth’s Alcove,” he says softly, still keeping his eyes locked on mine.

“Severus called to tell me that my father was in Scottsland. He said that I would be safe at the club, but I should get there and waste no time.”

“And that’s why you needed to feel something?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes.”

“What could be more complicated than what you have already told me?” he says with a chuckle. 

“Not much, I guess. Sometimes I just want to know that my mental pain isn’t taking over. It’s strange, but I wanted to remind myself that I could feel, that being touched wasn’t bad, even if Daphne hurt me. That’s actually the farthest I have ever let her go. There have been many times over the years when I have come in and asked the same thing of her, but I usually stop her. This time, I couldn’t. Part of my father’s tactics were to make me feel like I was dirt. Because I was gay, he wanted to humiliate me, so he did it by denying me touch, or simply hitting me. And as odd as it sounds, the same usually makes me feel better, because I never really had anyone to talk to.

“I’m pretty fucked up, Harry. I’ve let him prevent me from doing a lot of things in life I wanted to, just from fear. It’s such a powerful thing, fear. I don’t know what it’s like not to be afraid, but I’ve learned to hide it so well. I’m tired of hiding.”

“So stop hiding. It’s your choice to let him rule you. You just have to make the decision. I don’t want to have to call you Dragon for the rest of my life. I want to say your name, I want to watch the way your eyes light up when you hear me say it, whether it’s in the throes of passion or just in public. I’m not afraid of anything. I learned a long time ago that fear only keeps you from the things that matter most.”

I sit up and lean back against the couch, wondering how Harry got so wise. How is it that he is teaching me about courage? He looks at me from between my legs and leans forward. He slowly starts at the top button of my shirt, pulling each one through the holes until the fabric is open, and his hands are resting against my chest. “What are you doing?”

“These scars can heal, Draco. You just have to let them. Don’t live in fear of someone who has no control.”

He pushes the material off my shoulders, letting it pool against the sofa. His hands leave a trail of promises along my skin, allowing me to enjoy each touch. His calloused hands offer me love, affection – not the fear I have come to know with touch – and I only want to give the same to him in return. He pulls me forward, trailing his fingers up my back, tracing the thick scar on my back, caressing each ridge gently. 

“And what about this, where did this come from?” he asks, though I am not sure I want to answer. But feeling his lips against my neck, teasing the skin softly, I forget the pain for a moment and allow myself to appreciate his attentions.

“My father,” I say, wrapping my arms around Harry. I need to feel close to him, so close that I might merge into him just to feel safe. 

“What happened?” he asks, placing a gentle kiss on my collarbone before whispering in my ear, “It’s okay, Draco. I don’t care about it or him.”

“It was right after I was diagnosed with herpes. It was the angriest I had ever seen him. After the doctor made me tell my father that I had it, my father demanded to know who I’d slept with, and he went off the deep end. He forced the doctor to wait outside and took the poker in the fireplace, heating it up until it glowed like a red devil. He said if I ran, it would be worse, so I waited. Once it was hot enough, he told me remove my shirt. His words dripped like venom that day, I remember it like he said it a moment ago, Harry. He said, ‘If this doesn’t make a lasting impression, then nothing will.’ He dragged the damn thing down my back at least three times before I finally collapsed, and then he called the doctor back into the room. As always, silence came at a high price, but one my father was willing to pay.”

My tears are beginning to feel like lotion coating my skin – so sticky and ever present. There are so many tears, so many pieces of sorrow flowing from within, but pieces that are starting to feel whole once again. 

“Bella took care of me. She did all she could to make sure that I healed quickly, and she let me know when father was around so I could avoid him. When I left, I never looked back, Harry. So when Severus told me my father was here, I needed a sense of freedom from those bonds, and I think that’s what letting Daphne hurt me did. And then you were there, so unexpected, so comforting. I felt horrible, because not only was I letting this woman beat me, but your touches turned me on and I couldn’t help but feel ashamed by it.”

“You aren’t ashamed now, are you?” he asks, rubbing his hands against my inner thighs before unbuttoning my trousers. I’m hard as stone, but I don’t know if it’s from Harry’s nonstop affection, or if my body finally feels free enough to react to his presence the way it should. He’s so careful, so free with each touch, and I want more of it. 

“No.”

“Good, because it’s getting late and there is something I want to help you with,” he says, grinning madly. The corners of my mouth tug of their own accord as he works me out of the rest of my clothes, paying special attention to me. His mouth is exploring me, tasting me and inhaling me. He nips gently at me, and I lean back, letting him take control. His tongue is persistent with its exploration, and when he finally takes me in his mouth, I feel like I am surrounded by the most incredible moist warmth I have ever known. He is eager, willing to give to me all that I need. I grip the edge of the sofa, feeling the material bunch in my hands as he moves up and down, taking a little more at a time. That sweet release itches at my insides as he works his mouth, learning which ways to make me cry out with gratification. With each moan I give, his mouth moves in time to bring more pleasure as I peak, and finally nothing matters but the electricity coursing through my veins as he drinks from me. I think I might have called his name, but I can’t be sure. Now naked, I sit with my chest heaving, looking into the never-ending depths of his emerald eyes. If the eyes are the window to the soul, I am seeing all that is good and precious about this man below me. Something I have never seen in any human being. I see all of his innocence and naivete, but somewhere deeper I see the compassion I desperately crave.

He pulls off both of his shirts and stands, taking my clothes and his toward the bedroom. I follow, but I don’t remember standing. The bed is already made, so Ms Jorkins must have been by earlier today. He strips down and heads into the bathroom for a moment and then returns with a damp washcloth. I sit on the edge of the bed, just waiting for his return, not speaking, content in the silence, and feeling overwhelmed by the warmth such a dead living space now holds. There are no words between us, only a moment of me sitting up before Harry pulls me towards the bed, begging for my touch. He turns on his back and I rest half on him, half off, kissing him, and feeling as his skin ripples beneath my touch. He is so responsive, giving me all the validation I need to continue. 

With our tongues still connected, wrestling and massaging one another, I take him in hand, offering slow, gentle strokes against his length. He arches, grunting his approval. I feel him tense, each muscle expanding and contracting as I move fluidly, tasting his skin and feeling the animalistic urge to mark him. As my lips leave his to trace a path down his neck, he opens up to me, and lets me stake my claim. I latch on roughly, sucking and licking until he moans loudly with each pull. He is so very vocal, telling me what he likes, and his pleasurable hums tell me what to do and how fast. I admire the deep, purple coloured mark I left on his neck before taking his lips to mine once again. I swear I can feel our hearts beating as one, but I know it’s over when his head lolls back with his mouth open and he no longer kisses me. He calls my name, my name, not Dragon, and I feel it. The warmth of his essence on my hand is so agonizingly erotic that I can’t help offer him a lingering kiss in response. He’s given me a piece of freedom I have never known and I like it. 

We clean one another and settle under the covers, naked and satisfied. I know he didn’t plan to stay tonight, but I think we are both glad of the outcome. He’s broken through my defences, giving me a reason to continue pulling down my walls. I must accommodate him in my life, and I see now that running from him isn’t going to help. He has a courage that I don’t, and together, we can balance one another. He falls asleep quickly, holding me tight. I enjoy his affection, soaking up the tenderness that he offers. I feel like we come from different worlds, but I know that he, too, has ghosts haunting him. Well after one o’clock in the morning, I finally fall asleep, feeling like a cloud. I am steady, shifting with the weather, and floating high above the fear I felt earlier in the evening. Now there is a sense of calm before the growing storm, only I hope the rains never come. 

*****

Morning comes all too soon and I am awakened by his cell phone chiming. The incessant noise is grating on my nerves as it pierces my ears. Hearing the water running, I pick up his phone and see he once again has another message from Ginny. What the fuck does she want? My sleep filled eyes scan the short message and I feel a bit of anger swell inside me. I can’t see how she can be so bold to send him another message, not after the reply I sent last time. I still love you, Harry. Damn her! She has no right to step in and out of Harry’s life as she chooses. Hearing the water still running in the shower, I quickly type another response, Get lost. He’s moving on.

I hear the taps turn off and quickly delete both messages before lying back down on my side and playing as if I am asleep. I hear the towel rustling against his skin, and finally the weight of the bed shifts and he places a kiss on my shoulder, then whispers in my ear, “Wake up, sleepy head.” When I don’t move, he trails his warm tongue along the edge of my ear. 

“If you wake me up like that every day, you might end up late,” I say groggily. 

“Yes, but then you would have nothing to look forward to, so up you get! This isn’t the time for a lie in.”

“You are too cheerful in the morning,” I respond.

“And you are too bloody adorable. Your hair is sticking up,” he says, running his fingers through the mess atop my head as I roll over, “and other things.” He chuckles, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Call me later, yeah? I have to get going.”

“Have a good day!” I call out as he leaves. I don’t know if he heard me, but it’s the thought that counts. Or is that cards and gifts? No matter. Tonight is the first of the Speed Dating nights at the club. This should be interesting. Tonks said she didn’t want to advertise it, but rather put signs up inside the club with a time, location and everything already set up. Her reasoning is that word of mouth travels faster than print and we can save some money on that end. I am inclined to agree with her and test this theory. 

I head into town after a nice long shower and a shave. I have to pick up some things for the evening; Tonks sent me a list longer than my arm, so I might as well get it out of the way now. Her ideas cost money, but I’m willing to spend it in the interest of bringing the club back up to the standard people have come to expect in Scottsland. This city is huge, home to over three-hundred thousand people. Of all the directions I could drive to get to the local Superstore, I would have to drive past Moste Potente Productions. I see Harry’s car and as I pass, I see Remus’ car as well. Feeling the elation of opening up and sharing myself with Harry, I pull into an empty parking space behind the theatre to talk to Remus, and hopefully catch a glimpse of rehearsals. I won’t pass on a chance to see Harry in the middle of his craft. 

I sneak in the back and head towards Severus’ office, since that is usually where Remus takes up his post when there. All of the lights are on, reflecting dimly off the dark surface of the walls. There are massive pieces of wood and metal lined up against the walls, some painted, some plain. This must be part of the set. I stop short as I pass backstage and see Harry and Bill standing together, going through lines. His entire demeanour is different. His shoulders slump in and he cowers in submissiveness as Bill rants and raves. Harry reacts, and Bill takes him in hand, kissing him roughly, and I feel a surge of jealousy. That should be my kiss. 

Then the others join on stage, and with cardboard props, they seem to settle in “for the night”, by the look of the lights on stage. Harry is so unlike his usual self, more like a beaten cat or dog than his normal confidence and poise. Severus ends the scene and I leave before he can catch sight of me. I see the door to my godfather’s office open and as I approach, there is rustling and voices on the other side. I peer through the crack, staying in the shadows, listening. I have to stop myself from making any noise, because what I see gives me a start. A burly man with messy black hair and grey streaks holds Remus by the neck up against the wall. Struggling against the unknown man’s hold, Remus tries to fight him, but he is bigger and seemingly stronger.

“How much does he know?” the dark-haired man growls. “My boss wouldn’t like it very much if you were spilling his secrets, Remus.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Remus gasps against the strong hold around his throat.

“That’s good. I would hate to have to come back here and take care of you and the boy.”

“Leave him alone. Tell your boss he doesn’t know anything and it will stay that way.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Traitor! How dare you come in here and make any demands.”

“Tsk, tsk, I think you need to be taught a lesson. You don’t test us, Remus, you know that.”

“Leave,” Remus says with the coldest voice I have ever heard from him. “Get out and don’t come back.”

“You just make sure that you and your husband keep your mouths shut. We are good at keeping people silent and won’t hesitate to take care of you… even old friends, Remus,” the dark-haired man says with a loud, menacing chuckle that brings the hairs on my neck to full attention. Remus drops to the floor gasping when the man releases him, and then kicks him in the ribs. “A reminder of my visit.”

“Fuck you. Don’t come back, you son of a bitch,” Remus spits. His voice is barely one I recognize as he verbally spars with this man.

The man with dark hair closes in on Remus and hooks a finger around his ear, applying more and more weight as he tries to intimidate. “Or what?”

“Or you will wish you had died when the Governor did.”

“Your threats don’t scare me.”

“It’s a promise,” Remus returns quickly, smacking the bigger man’s hand away. 

“Remember what I said. The Boss doesn’t like when his laundry is aired in public.”

I see the man turn to leave and look around quickly for a place to hide. There is a door across from me, the bathroom. I can get in there before he opens the office door. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest painfully hard. The last thing I hear before the bathroom door closes is the man speaking with a sinister snarl, “I know where he’s hiding, Remus. If you keep your mouth shut, I will do the same. Otherwise, kiss the boy good-bye.”

“Lay a hand on either of them, and you will die.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

I hear the office door slam and wait in one of the stalls until I think it’s safe to leave. What the hell is going on? Who was that and who the hell is his boss? I don’t like the sound of this, what if he is talking about me? Shit. If my father knows where I am, I’m screwed. He will come for me. He will make sure I keep my mouth shut just like everyone else. He always has a way to make people stay quiet, and death is his favourite silencer. I gather myself quickly and leave the stall I’m hiding in, but the fear doesn’t leave. As soon as I open the door, I feel my back hit the metal door. It isn’t a pleasant sensation nor is it accompanied by any. I feel a hard, rough hand on my neck, the same way Remus’ was being held. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” the man says, the same dark-haired man accosting Remus. “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you, Draco?” His voice is so cold and full of death. I wonder if that is why he is here, to finish what my father couldn’t do himself. “Shh, be a good little boy and you won’t get hurt. You are going to help me, Mr Malfoy. Test my patience and you will regret it. Understand?” His voice is like acid in my ears, burning through, making me regret coming to the theatre today.

“I will be in touch, so keep your eyes open. I think we can help one another. I’m not going to hurt you, boy.”

Panic fills me. I start to struggle, trying to get away, but his hold increases and I feel like the last sound I will ever know is the sick, cruel laughter echoing through my ears. Christ, what have I gotten myself into this time? What have I gotten Harry involved in? This is bigger than I am, this is bigger than Harry is, and I feel all of the sadness taking over. I don’t know what this man wants, but whatever it is, I am not willing to give it. I slap at his arms, trying to cry out, but his hold is so tight. I feel the breath as it struggles to make it to my lungs and just as I feel like giving up, the door slams open with a loud crash. I drop the floor, gasping for breath, and hear only two people struggling and one of them hitting the floor before the door opens again. I assume one of them has left, but as my lungs burn from the sudden surge of oxygen, I keep my focus on the floor, just in case the worst of them won. 

A jerking on my collar brings me to my feet quickly and I see Remus staring at me with a confused gaze. He turns to look to the door before speaking. “Are you all right?”

I don’t know if I can speak, so I nod in reply, watching as his eyes begin to fume with rage. I feel like I just dropped into the middle of a boiling pot of water and my skin is blistering. Only in this pot, it’s my mind blistering, wondering what the hell is going on. Who the hell is that man? And how does Remus know him? What the hell happened twenty years ago?

“Say something!”

“Yes,” I finally croak, feeling like a two-year-old receiving a chastisement from a parent.

“What did you see?”

“Him, you, in the office,” I answer, still feeling the grip on my throat as though it was still there.

“Do not utter a word. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“I can’t hear you, Draco! You say a word and I can’t protect you.”

“What is this all about?” I finally manage.

“It started twenty years ago. Don’t you worry about it. Now, why are you here?”

“I came to speak with you. I talked to Harry, Remus. I finally told someone about my past.”

“Christ, Draco, you pick the worst times to open up to people. Did you not think?”

“I don’t know what this is about, Remus, but if you are going to tell me to leave Harry alone too, then save it. I think we are both old enough to make our decisions.”

“That may be so, Draco, but there are bigger things going on that just you and Harry, and you would do well to remember that.”

“I’m not breaking it off.”

Remus moves away from me, pacing the cramped bathroom for a moment, and then turns to look at me. His face has softened considerably and I can tell he is debating something, but instead of the tense words I expect, he softly asks, “Can you trust him?”

I look at him a moment, really asking myself the same thing. Can I trust him? I think back to last night and realise that yes, I can trust Harry. “Yes.”

Remus’ face erupts into a smile, a warm smile, and he pats me on the back. “That’s good, Draco. That’s really good. Now let’s go. I think it’s best we get out of here for now. Let me have a look at your neck.”

Aside from the purpling bruise that Harry left with his mouth, Remus says there is nothing, but to make sure, I check later. I hate this game of secrecy, but I don’t know what telling Harry would mean. I don’t think he would understand, and if this is something that started twenty years ago, then what does it have to do with me or Harry? I can only assume that Remus meant the both of us in his conversation with the dark-haired man. 

The rest of my day goes by quickly. I don’t call Harry, I don’t do anything but get the things Tonks listed and go to the club, hiding away in my office until after nine o’clock. I hear a soft knock on my door. It’s Harry, and he looks delectable. With sexily mussed hair, he looks at me with determination. His clothes fit his form perfectly, outlining every edible part of his body, and he doesn’t even have to ask, because whatever it is, I accept. I find myself on the dance floor, melting into him, forgetting about the events earlier in the day. His body writhes against mine, making me wish we were in the bedroom, not the middle of the club. He stays all night and goes home with me, making his earlier absence worth this wait by giving me a massage to die for and showing me just why giving him up is not an option. He is so in tune with my body, paying attention to every detail that it hurts if he lingers too long on an erogenous zone. With plenty of alcohol and even more lust, we both find completion in new and exciting ways. 

Tomorrow is just another day, and I look forward to it with Harry here. Before him, I went through the motions, simply existing. Now I feel like I have someone I can love; someone who understands me and can deal with all of the little things that no one ever cared to pay attention to before. By the end of the weekend, I remember only the feel of Harry touching me, and me touching him in return.


	20. Losing Control

Chapter 20: Losing Control  
Harry’s POV – Wednesday – 12 October 2005

 

“Potter!”

Severus’ voice is like a needle, piercing the quiet surrounding me. In Bill’s arms again, running this scene for the fifth time, I am tired and ready for a break. Of course, there is no break in sight, but that is beside the point. I can’t get into this. I try, but I can’t get my mind where it needs to be. I want to fight for control, because I need it. Ceasing movement, I look at the director, fighting to maintain a carefully constructed composure of calm. 

“If you can’t do it right, then what the hell are you doing here? This is the hundredth time we have gone over this scene.”

“My apologies, sir,” I say, feeling determined to ignore his scathing tone. He isn’t exaggerating either; we have gone over this scene a hundred times, and maybe more. I’m doing the best I can, and if that isn’t good enough, then sod it. I don’t need this. Money is nice, but it won’t make me happy; hell, I can sell the flat. Now that Ginny isn’t there, there is nothing left for me to hang on to there anyway. 

“Start again, and do it right this time,” Severus hisses with his uneven, southern drawl. 

Bill and I run the lines again, and finally adding the movements, I feel trapped once again. It’s all like a never-ending cycle of duelling banjos. All I want is the twang in my ears to cease, because I know it’s coming. It won’t take long before my face isn’t turning just so, or my eyes are too wide… it doesn’t take much to set him off at the moment. And I can’t seem to get it right, no matter how hard I try. Maybe I am not cut out for the humiliation that this role deserves. 

“Scene!” Severus yells again. “I told you not to do it that way, Potter. Are you listening to what I’m saying or are you too good to listen?”

“No, sir.”

“Then do what I tell you! I want you to act like your life depends on pleasing this man! You do know how to do that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” I feel my teeth grind against one another as my jaw sets tightly, trying not to yell in response. I can feel the eruption of frustration nagging at my insides, and attempt to suppress it as much as humanly possible. I am so tired of him making me do this repeatedly because it isn’t just so. How the hell am I supposed to let go when Severus keeps yelling and snapping? I don’t know how to back down, I’ve always had to protect myself and ‘Nat’ doesn’t do that. Instead, he plays one man against the other, trying desperately to improve his station in life by going from one shitty situation to the next. I don’t know how I am supposed to feel right now. I know that ‘Billy’ is going to rob some place and I have some part in assisting. I suppose I’m scared, scared that if I don’t do what he asks that I will be hurt again, or possibly killed this time. 

“Start from the beginning, and show me some emotion, Potter. Live up to your damn name for a change.”

The longer he insists on taunting me, the longer I will fail at this task. How the hell do I let myself go when I have had to survive on strength for so long? Becoming mindless to another individual is not something I find easy, and it’s getting harder to accept this role for what it is, no matter how much money comes with it. Line after line from memory makes me wish I were somewhere else; with Draco, or even on a sandy beach, far away from this grim theatre. Could I submit to Draco this way? 

As expected, Severus stops us once more and quite literally moves my limbs the way he wants them, as though I am a wooden, anatomical model that artists use. This is frustrating. If pulling each hair on my head means Severus’ incessant correction will cease, I gladly will go bald for the peace of mind such a simple act can bestow upon me. It almost seems easier to endure the irritating torture than his nattering. 

“One more time,” Severus shouts, and we all take our places. Everything begins and somehow I make it through without any comments, just careful glares and calculated snorts of derision. I remind myself that he is not known for his tact or ability to work with people, but his knowledge of theatre and stage. He knows what makes a crowd crumble and how to mould our skills into the closest to perfection it can be. I remember the first time I met him, Severus asked me why I started acting. I told him, ‘Playing a part is a lot easier than my life.’ He snorted and waved his hand fancifully. His next words were ones I will never forget. ‘Mr Potter, acting isn’t about playing a part. It’s about giving people a sense of catharsis; it’s about letting them get away from their mundane lives for a while, and theatre is unique because every time a production begins on opening night, it will never be the same again. There are no two productions that are ever the same. As an actor, it is your job to make the audience feel everything that you do and make them feel angry, vilified, or so happy that they may unhinge their jaws from laughter. Theatre began as a way to praise the Gods or appease them, and passing down stories from generation to generation. Tell me, which of those are you most interested in? Because playing a part that isn’t similar your life is not going to make you a good actor. Connecting with the audience and becoming what you fear or loathe is going to make you a good actor.’

After that day, Severus and I seemed to find a good way to agree or disagree, but now I feel like his expectations are extreme and patronising, rather than promising and guiding, as I have come to expect. I somehow make it through the remainder of rehearsals, but Severus asks me to wait a moment. He wants to speak with me, and that can’t mean anything good. I’m tired and ready to shower; I want to see Draco. 

“Potter, is something distracting you?” Severus asks with a cool tone. 

“No, sir.”

“Then why can’t you get this right? Are you spending time with Weasley? You know that the reason everyone moved to that house for the duration of rehearsals was so that you could get used to one another, become comfortable. There isn’t enough time to prepare things as it is, and the longer you dally, the longer we have to continue to correct your performance.”

“Everything’s fine, Severus.” I don’t want to make this about Draco, because it isn’t. This is about my inability to become this character. My only reason for getting it right is to get Severus off my back at this point. Being on the receiving end of his ire is not a position I like. We have always gotten on fairly well, and now it seems that this one thing separates us completely. If I can do it right, I will. He isn’t helping with his constant nagging, though. I know his recommendation will be to spend more time with Bill, to ‘do whatever it takes.’ But that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to rely on Bill; I have to rely on myself to make this work. That’s the only way this will ever work. 

“Go home. You need to remember what’s important right now, Potter. I expect better from you.” He stares at me for a long time before turning away and heading to his office in the back. As I watch him retreat, he turns, but doesn’t say anything and continues. There is no point in stopping him, not when his irritation is so apparent. 

I leave without responding, finding myself angry at Severus and disappointed in myself. How is it that I can work so hard and yet still not please him? I am doing my best, and if I am distracted, it isn’t by Draco. In fact, Draco rarely enters my thoughts while I am working. Not because I don’t want to think about him, but I don’t have any time to stop and think of him. Even if I imagined Bill as Draco, it wouldn’t be the same. His hands would still be different, his voice, his body, and that’s the least of my problems. It’s almost seven o’clock, so Draco is probably at the club already. I want to see him, and talk to him, but there is so much I have to do.

For now, I will go back to the house and talk to Bill. I think he and I need to find a way to bring out the chemistry that we seem to be missing. Or maybe just a night away from everything will give me a fresh perspective. Finding it in me to be this little pet is stretching my limits. I see no end to it, and the production will end up a wash because I can’t make myself stop wanting to be in control, when control is the thing that Nat lacks the most. The more I think about it, I see him as a young man who has no ambition outside of finding one man to take the place of another. And he’s surrounded by the desolate peace of these shantytowns because that’s all there is. I still have no money and now I feel the weight of poverty pressing against me. I think I need to make some serious decisions about my flat. It’s paid for, I can either sub-let or sell… I don’t know which is the better choice. If I had known that Ginny set it up lease to buy, I never would have agreed to this place. I don’t even know if she took her name off the lease and now I realise that she hasn’t returned her key, either. This just keeps getting more and more complicated. I feel so daft for allowing Ginny to dominate so many aspects of my life. It’s as though I never had control to begin with, that I let her selfishly spend and spend without ever stepping up. Leaving New York three times a month to visit her depleted the money I did make on Broadway… and not to mention housing. Housing there was twice as expensive as it is here. I don’t know how I have been so blind to so many things. 

As I step onto the street, I look into the rapidly fading sunlight and see nothing but dashed dreams staring back at me. It seems I have made so many poor choices that they are just all coming back to haunt me now. Being with her makes me wish that I had met Draco sooner, because even if I had known about him having herpes, the kind of man he is, I think I would have fallen headfirst anyway. The sky is worrying, and with it comes the soft mist of the pending rain, just like the way I feel at the moment. Everything within me seems to be rearranging itself accordingly, shedding the old skin and preparing to accommodate Draco. He continues to burrow himself inside me with every word, thought and action. I know I should be afraid of his father, but how can I let fear control the budding arousal at every turn, or the continuous fluttering in my belly and loins when I hear his voice? Is it a blessing or a curse? I don’t know, but for now, I have come to feel a great deal for Draco in such a short space of time. I feel like I’ve known him forever, but revel in the unravelling of each mystery that surrounds him. I peel away each layer, taste its contents, and then continue to the next until I reach the centre. What that centre is, I don’t know yet. If it’s his heart, so be it. If it’s something else, then I will gladly accept it as it comes. There is the possibility that he is making the relationship with his father more than it really is. I don’t doubt that the man was the cause of Draco’s scar, but his attempts on others lives… I’m not sure how I feel about that. If Draco is sure that he is safe, then what exactly is the problem? I mean, he has to have protection, and if he was sent to Severus, then the man knows more than he is letting on. I’m guessing that some of his more recent animosity stems from Draco showing up the morning after the fight with Bill. 

Regardless if it is careless of me, I don’t want to heed Remus’ warnings. Everyone has a complicated past. There is not a single person I have ever met that didn’t come from a place that somehow made them a better person. If they didn’t become a better person, it was their own fault. However foolish it may seem, I would rather spend my time thinking of ways to get things settled with Ginny without too much fuss. She will make waves, it’s in her nature, but I don’t have the time to worry about that now. Finding my place is what is important, and I will continue to allow Draco to become further situated in my life, because I feel like on some level, I need him. I can see that part of him feels just as trapped as I do, and if being with him sets both of us free, then so be it. The consequences can be weighed and measured at a later time, but for now, I am content. The knowledge of his desire only feeds my curiosity and the ever-present fantasies that seem to becoming stronger with each passing day. 

Time slows, and I make a quick decision. After stopping for a quick bite to eat, I drive to The Dragon’s Tail, intent on seeing Draco. When I arrive, I see his silver Mercedes parked in the back, and claim the empty space beside him. The door is open, so I sneak in unnoticed by Tonks, who is unpacking some boxes. I find my way through the back to the red curtain at the front of the club. I wave at a few of the workers, and make my way up the stairs to Draco’s office. His door is closed and at that moment, I feel my mobile vibrate in my pocket. I sneak down one landing to the DJ booth and answer.

“Hullo?”

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says with that devilish smile evident in his voice.

“I’d prefer the nickel, if you please,” I respond.

“Touché, Potter.”

“What are you doing?”

“Heading downstairs to check on things before we open, you?”

“You don’t say? Nothing much…” I say playfully, and hear him descend the stairs. It’s all so perfect. I creep to the edge of the wall and wait for him, and he seems to drop something about the same time he hits the landing. While his back is turned, I press my hips against his, feeling the firm, soft folds of his arse closing around me as he stands straight again. His body is tense and he doesn’t turn; instead he waits, patiently. 

“Clever. I will have to remember that in the future.”

“Pouting?”

“No,” he says, wiggling against my hardening cock. “Thinking about how I’m going to get this position reversed.”

“I’m sure you have some ideas,” I kid, and before I can move, my hands are above my head and I am against the wall, with our erections pressing together. His silky, sweet lips begin to leave a trail of delicious sensations, but I pull away. It’s not that I don’t want to feel his lips, but even if my body reacts, my mind is somewhere else, tugging at the growing fear of failure. If I don’t do something, I will finish this run and possibly find it harder and harder to gain work. 

“Harry, you all right?” Draco’s voice continues to drip with the hint of lust, but beneath the surface, it’s as though my heart feels the concern there as well.

His eyes are like stars, dancing gaily at me and hesitantly, I look at him, fearing the worst for my rejection of his advances. His brows knit and I wonder what my face must look like to him. If only I had a mirror to see my own reflection as he does. 

“Harry?”

I turn away, and feel his hands release my arms. “It’s nothing, Draco.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, something is bothering you. Now spill.”

“It’s the show,” I begin, letting out the breath I was holding. “Severus won’t give me break on anything. He literally posed me today because I wasn’t doing what he wanted. It’s just starting to get frustrating. I don’t know how to be submissive. I’ve never been submissive to anyone.”

“Oh, is that all?” he asks with a smile. Apparently, he doesn’t understand the extent of my problem. 

“Draco, if I don’t get this right…”

“Harry, calm down,” he says, and caresses my worried cheek. His hand is so soft and smooth, the backs of his fingers pulling the tension from me with practised ease. Now I wonder if his ‘Auntie Bella’ used the same technique to soothe him during rough times. I offer a smile at his enchanting fingers. He pulls away, but replaces his fingers with a soft kiss, sending warm tendrils through me. Shivers course through me, and I feel safe and content for the first time all day. I think I can melt into Draco, without ever a thought for being in control. In contrast to every day life, I can see the give and take, bending, folding and merging of the two of us like water. With Draco, I want all these things. I want to become part of him if only for a little while. “Come now, pretty bird, I think I can help you.”

“How?”

“An experiment. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The ride to Draco’s penthouse seems to take forever as the street lamps illuminate his pale skin with each passing. The rain has come, pounding against the car with angry fervour. Thunder echoes across the sky, allowing me to get lost in the symphony of the night. The closer to the city’s centre we get, the more lights, the more complex the web of my life becomes. In his car, my fingers brushing against his in absolute comfort, I feel peace. Consequences are the last thing on my mind when we pull into the parking garage and make the thousand-mile trip to his penthouse. 

With confident strides, he walks towards the bedroom, and at first, my feet don’t move. When he turns with a sexy grin mid-step and looks at me with invitation, I follow. I don’t know how he gets away with looking so damn sexy no matter what. He sheds his coat, a light poncho, and underneath is a black, ribbed, v-neck t-shirt, hugging his body beautifully. His trousers are a soft charcoal grey, comfortably hanging against his tall frame. 

“Come here,” he demands softly. I feel my heart race as I see the look in his eye and approach with cautious excitement. “I need you to trust me, Harry.”

“All right,” I say, hearing the shakiness of my voice. 

“Stand, and don’t move. Every time you move or don’t listen to what I say, I am going to spank you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Nothing hard,” he says, demonstrating the playfully sensual whack against my arse. He rubs the spot he just hit softly, and I relish the power in his soft hands. “Just enough of a smack to show you that you aren’t listening, Harry, that’s all. I’m not going to hurt you, pretty bird. Trust me.” 

“Draco,” I whisper. 

He places his finger against my lips and I feel the urge to lick it, and suck it into my mouth. But the soft sibilance of his quieting snaps me back to the problem at hand. “I’m going to make you lose control, Harry.”

Apprehension swells within me, but I want to trust him. “You don’t speak unless I question you directly, is that understood?”

I stare at him, calculating his intent. In the depths of his eyes, I see compassion, but he seems to beg for my trust. “Yes, Dragon,” I say, feeling the need to associate this moment with his other name. This is new to me; I have never experienced anything like this in my life. I suddenly feel so very timid and wanton, and Draco’s actions do nothing to change that. 

“I want you to take out your contacts, and then come back and stand in this same spot, Phoenix.”

I leave and remove the soft lenses, not understanding what he’s doing. It isn’t until my vision is a complete blur, and all I see if the fuzzy outline of his tall frame, that I start to understand. My sight allows me some control in my environment, but without it, I am at his mercy completely. His instructions dictate my actions and without my sight, I have to trust him. I squint as I seek him out in the darkened room. I can make out the shape of the bed by the lights from Hogwarts Square, and then the towering figure of my soon-to-be lover.

When I return, he tugs at the edges of my shirt, slowly lifting it until he touches my skin. He caresses the expanse of my abdomen with deft fingers, alternating between soft and hard, desperate touches. 

“When I undress you, you are going to go shower,” he whispers in my ear, and every hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “Lift your arms.”

I hesitate, but do as he asks and feel him peel the material away from my body. In a messy pile on the floor, the shirt lands softly rumpled against the plush carpet. He moves behind me, trailing his fingers along my sides, seducing me with every movement. He presses his body close to mine and his fingers make their way to my belt, slowly pulling the tongue from its position and then unbuttoning my trousers. They drop before he can take the slide of my zip in hand, and I stand with only a pair of pants and his body covering me. I lean against him, wanting to feel more of his hands against me, but he pulls away and I feel a swat against my arse. I turn to protest, but he does it again, lingering as he did the first time. “Don’t move, Phoenix.” Draco’s voice is so soft as he speaks to me calmly, reassuringly. His body moulds against mine again and I feel his erection, as much as I feel mine. I moan softly as his hands grip my hips and his fingers slide underneath the band of my pants, working them lower. “You have such a beautiful body, Phoenix, did you know that? I want to taste every piece of skin, every inch of you.” I moan again, though this time it’s his words, not his movement. This is so exciting and scary at the same time. I want to take him in my arms, I want to kiss him, but he’s denying me the most basic forms of affection. Not being able to see him makes it even harder, but I try not to dwell on it, wanting his experiment to work. I think I understand what he’s doing, but it still scares me a little.

Lost in my uncertainty, Draco’s hands sliding along my length pulls me back to reality. “What turns you on more? Me touching you, or you not being able to touch me?”

“You touching me,” I manage as his fingers grasp me tight and the other hand pushes my pants to the floor. 

“Time for that shower, Phoenix. You are not to touch yourself except to wash. I will be watching.”

True to his word, he watches as I shower. His eyes carefully scrutinising me makes me want to show off. In the spirit of flirting, I arch under the spray, letting him see the way his eyes on my body affects me. I am still hard, achingly so as I drop the flannel and bend over suggestively to pick it up. I’m not daft, I know how men have sex, and surprisingly the concept isn’t bothering me at all. The more I think about Draco taking that beautiful cock of his and pushing inside me, the more I expect it and want to give it in return. Flashes of future encounters serves to keep me excited as I exit the stall and he hands me a towel. 

In the bedroom, I await his instructions, squinting to see him. Instead of coming up behind me, he stands before me, fully clothed. “I’m going to tie your hands in front of you,” he whispers, placing a kiss against my earlobe and then snaking his tongue along the shell. I feel a tremor move through me and he takes my wrists, sliding a thin, silky rope around them. With a quick knot, he lets my hands drop, crossed over one another. “Do not touch yourself. If you do, you will get a spanking.”

I don’t respond; instead I hear him shuffle and sit on the bed. “Come to me, Harry. Sit in front of me with your legs spread and your back to my chest.”

I do as he demands, feeling the mattress dip under my weight. I feel his clothed body hard against mine, and enjoy the feeling of his hands guiding mine in the air, around his neck. He scrapes his nails along the underside of my arms until I shiver forcefully from his manipulations of my skin. “OK, Harry?”

“Yes,” I moan as he wraps his fingers around my cock, slowly stroking my length. It feels so good to have him touch me again. I feel like it’s been forever, even though it’s only been a few days. 

“So responsive,” he coos, tickling my ear with is breath. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes!” I keen, feeling all of the tension and frustration draining with each tug on my shaft. I lean into him, lifting my hips, wanting more, wanting it faster. 

“Tsk, Harry,” he says, and releases his hold on me. Gods! This is horrible. He prolongs every touch, leaving me a heated mess. I feel my body weaken from the build-up, awaiting his touch once again. I feel his mouth on my neck, sucking, and drawing out the sensations until I fall against him, completely at his mercy. “There you go. Now, let me take care of you.”

His voice is only a whisper, and it drives me mad. If I could die at this moment, it would be a happy death. I close my eyes, letting him take control again. My entire body is on fire with his touches, sending me into a rapturous abyss of pleasure. His other hand snakes around me, taking my sac in hand, massaging it gently with each stroke, and I feel a strangled cry of relief leave my lips. The only sound I hear is his breathing in my ear and the rain outside. “You’re so close, Harry. Let it go. Come for me,” he whispers against my ear and his teeth latch on to my neck, stealing all coherent thought as the agony ends and I feel the rush of completion. My insides spill for him, and his name ghosts across my lips as I fall against him, completely spent. 

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he whispers, his voice drawing me back to the present. I can feel his desire against me and want to give to him in return, but he stops my wiggling. “Another time. This was for you, Harry.”

“But--”

“No. This was for you and that’s final. Now sit up, I need to get a rag and wash my hand.”

I do as he asks and soon he returns, pushing me against the bed, cleaning the remnants of his manipulations from me lovingly. That’s the only way I can describe the delicate attention he shows to my body. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like you just took me apart and put me back together.”

He chuckles, reaching out to caress my face. The look in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat. I don’t understand what I am seeing, but there is something there that makes my body flush and my thoughts become simple, like a child’s. 

He peels his clothes off and joins me in bed, pulling the covers around us. I know it isn’t late, but in the prismatic light of the rain-drenched city makes this moment seem perfect. With his arms wrapped around me and our skin touching, I feel the hitches in his breath and look at him softly dozing. 

“Draco?”

“Hrm?” His chest vibrates against mine and I feel the rest of my body tingle In appreciation. 

“When’s your birthday?”

“June fifth. I’m twenty-five. You?”

“July thirty-first. Same. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?”

“Too many hopes and dreams to sift through.” His voice has a hint of sadness, but I don’t press. I’m lucky that he’s shared his past with me, but now I want to know the present and see the future unfold with him. 

“I see,” I say, watching his eyelids close.

“Why did you get into acting?”

“I like the idea of becoming other people. I have never known my own place, so it always gave me a way out of the shit I was living. When Ginny and I were having problems, I would throw myself into a show, never thinking, just doing. It was easier to deal with my disappointment in her that way,” I respond and he holds me tighter. “To be honest, before I met you, I had no idea what it meant to be myself.”

“So that’s what you meant by the masks?”

“Yeah. My life hasn’t been terrible, but it hasn’t been spectacular either. Not anything to write home about, but I’ve learned a lot about people and their motivations.”

“Are you worried about my motivations?” he asks. I find it an odd question, but think for a moment before answering. 

“Should I be?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you trust too easily?”

I can’t help but laugh, because yes, they have. “Yes, but I don’t think you have any motivations. Unless you are part of some twenty-year-old conspiracy, then what do I have that you could want? I’m poor as hell, I’m average at most things, except acting… I mean, you tell me!” I laugh.

“No, no motivations but the pleasure of your company and companionship.” His fingers thread through my hair, and I lean into it, becoming shallow for the sake of his affection. “What’s the first play you ever worked on?”

“I was ten, and the school I went to wanted to do a Christmas play before we were let out for hols. It was a strange version of ‘A Christmas Carol’. And I loved being on stage. I didn’t care about the praise or anything, I just liked being able to capture the audience. It was fun, and it still is.”

“Are you good?” His words mean so much. The meaning is everything, but they mean nothing at the same time. He wants to know about acting, but he’s asking something else as well. Not yet… but soon. I want to show him all of the little things; I want to know all the little things. 

“Are you going to find out?”

“Are you going to let me?”

“Depends on what you want,” I say, giving him a smile. “There are a lot of things I am capable of letting you find out.”

“I want to fuck you, Harry, make love to you, and then see you act.”

“All right,” I offer bluntly. I want him too, but I don’t want to rush things either. I like this slow build, I think it will make things so much more meaningful in the end.

His eyes twinkle with the devious beauty that I have come to adore. He pulls me into a deep kiss that reaches my toes, making them wiggle and curl with all the promises his heart and soul can offer with such a simple gesture. 

“Get some sleep,” he says as he pulls away. But I’m not tired. I have too many thoughts swimming around my mind, so many emotions that I can’t replace the restlessness. I spend time here as though I belong, and it feels good. In his arms, I feel like the world doesn’t matter and for once, all I want to do is get lost in him. I want to drink from him, taking all that he has to offer. I never felt this secure with Ginny, and this may be what I have been missing all this time. I feel like I had to try with Ginny, but there is no trying with Draco, just simply being. Enjoying the comfort he brings to me, enjoying the touches he offers. 

I look at the clock, half past two. I’ve been lying here for hours, just listening to Draco’s heartbeat and his soft breathing. I shift slightly, and feel that he is still very ready for some attention. I slide the covers off us, position myself between his legs, licking my lips, and then swallow him. Greeted with a soft moan and his hands in my hair, I continue, loving the taste of his arousal. With determination, I give to him all the pleasure he gave me, touching him wherever my hands will reach. My tongue twirls around his leaking head, and I feel more of his seed spilling on my tongue. He’s close, and tells me so between muffled gasps and cries of pleasure. 

“Just like that,” he hisses and I move faster. The silence tells me all I need to know and I don’t stop, eager for his blessing of my actions. “God, Harry, that’s it...” And his flavour coats my throat and mouth. 

“You are going to spoil me,” he chuckles as I move beside him again.

“It’s worth it.”

“Get some sleep, or do I need to assist you?”

“No, I’m fine,” I say. I’m too tired to do anything more, and it’s going to be an early day. “Hold me?”

He settles on his side, wrapping his arm around me. Feeling our naked bodies pressed against one another is the definition of bliss. “Goodnight, pretty bird.”

“Night, love,” I say with a yawn, concentrating on anything but the feeling of his body pressed against mine. When I finally wake in the morning, I untangle myself from Draco and take a shower to flatten the mess of hair on my head. At least washing it again tames it a little more, but just barely. As I wait for Draco to wake up, I stand at the large window in his room, just looking out over the city, admiring the view. From up here I can see everyone rushing to work, or getting their children to school, and I feel a pang of loss in my heart. That could have been me in a few years, even if Ginny and I never reconciled. I could have been one of those parents… I shake the thoughts away when Draco wraps his arms around me and gives me a soft kiss on the neck. It’s another day, and I will get through it without worrying about the past. I will stand strong and go to the theatre, continuing to do my best, no matter what Severus says. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just hoping things go better today in rehearsals.”

“They will. And if they don’t, we can try again.”

“Yes, I am sure you would love that,” I say playfully, pushing my fears aside.

“You’re right, but you are forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s no one else I’d want to do it with,” he says and kisses me softly.


	21. The Lady of Shalott

Chapter 21: The Lady of Shalott  
Draco’s POV – Friday – 14 October 2005

 

“Close your eyes,” I say, offering Harry my support. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Draco--”

I slide the blindfold over his wide eyes, and push his arms above his head, caressing the sensitive undersides. I want his entire body alive, each nerve pulsing and offering the pleasure he deserves. 

“Shh, Harry, trust me,” I whisper, slithering down his smaller frame. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and the rough stubble of his cheeks and neck tickles my lips as I tease his skin. Soft, muffled moans pour from his lips, ushering me forward. How this started, I don’t know. Somewhere between his arrival and hello, we ended up here, in the bedroom. His desperate kisses left me puzzled, but his pleas for my affection quickly brought me back to reality. So desperate, but shy and unsure of himself, I asked him what he wanted. I think Harry likes being out of control, because that is what he demanded of me. Make me feel something, Draco. I won’t tie him up tonight; no, instead I will demand his obedience without the security of restraints. Or is it the lack of security he needs? I know that this may or may not help him, but the selfish part of me wants to tame his wild side, training it just for me. Whatever he’s struggling with at the moment will have to wait, or rather, I won’t press for it until he’s ready. 

Harry finally relaxes, letting me explore his body. The black blindfold lies innocently across his eyes and seems to shimmer in the soft light of my bedroom, with Harry lying on the bed, his knees bent and his cock hard, its head glistening with pre-come against his stomach. His breath is ragged with anticipation, but I make him wait. He isn’t in charge, and I must make that clear. 

I breathe out against his skin, making him whimper with each passing second. Slow, calculated movements bring me closer to the goal, and that is to have him calling my name. Like a snake, I taste his skin, once, twice and then the third time he cries out. I allow him his moment of vocal admiration before moving on, concentrating my efforts on his cock. Long licks from the base to the tip tell me all I need to know when his voice becomes ragged, and his unauthorised pleas for more tickle my ears.

He’s so hard I feel the strain of his arousal with each swish of my tongue. I don’t chastise him for his appreciation; instead, I keep my pace steady and teasing. His groans animate my heart like a reel-to-reel in an old cinema house and I feel it flip, toss and turn with lust. The heat spreads throughout my body as I feel him so limp and compliant under my touches. I suck his length into my mouth again, and the throbs push him against my throat with heavy delight. Giving pleasure is one of the strongest aphrodisiacs I have ever known. This is power, power over mind and body, and I fall into it without fear or guilt. The power to provide someone with toe-curling, breath-stealing pleasure is one of the most erotic things I have ever experienced. Seeing Harry supine, anxiously willing to give me whatever I want is incredible. I want to spank him, I want to fuck him, and I want to make him come until he can’t stand it. He’s so beautiful before me, giving me access to everything I want of his body, with the added bonus of his mind. 

He shifts as I remove my mouth from his weeping erection, lifting his hips and moaning softly, but I push his hips back to the mattress. “Turn over,” I say, backing away slowly. He turns, settling against the bedding as comfortably as possible. I imagine his cock trapped between the thin, silky material, and his body is waiting for my attentions. He can wait, though. I don’t plan on giving in to him easily, not when there is so much more to explore. 

Prone, his back glistens with a soft sheen of sweat, so musky and delicious. It taunts my senses as I feel the moisture gather on my fingertips, dragging them down the length of his muscled back. He has such a glorious body, well defined and without any visible marks to mar its perfection. I graze my teeth gently along the swell of his ass, feeling him tense and slowly relax again. Feeling the flesh fold between my teeth, and tasting it as I suck at it, makes my eager erection bounce against my briefs. His skin tastes like soap and sweat, but it’s sweet. The drug of his body calls me closer and I part his legs slightly, trailing my tongue along the cleft of his backside. He tenses again, this time inhaling sharply as my teeth nip at the sensitive skin. “You all right?” I ask, letting my bottom lip caress the reddened skin. 

“Yeah,” he replies softly, and I continue, laving a trail to his opening. He moans softly the closer I get, and I skirt the tight, pink ring in favour of teasing him further. His sac is wrinkled and taut, and I run my tongue along the sensitive skin, loving the soft moans in response. I don’t want him getting too comfortable with any one action, so I move on again. 

“I want you so bad, Harry,” I whisper in his ear, trailing my tongue along the edge. “But you aren’t ready yet.” I turn him over again, nipping his chin gently, and his mouth opens, begging for mine. I give him my lips for a moment and steal them away as quickly as I offered. His head follows my lips, but I map his body with my mouth, until I reach his erection again. His ribs are extremely sensitive, always giving me a quick response. This is our world, our moment, and I continue to bask in the heat of our bodies. I throw my shirt off, ready to feel my skin against his, and unbutton my trousers, hastily removing them. Laid bare, we are both vulnerable to one another. I position myself to his right side and encourage him to part his legs slightly. Tracing his bottom lips with my thumb, he parts them like a child ready to feed. “Get my fingers wet,” I command, but not harshly. He eagerly twirls his tongue around my fingers and I hear his breath speeding up as it comes in soft puffs through his nose. Watching his body react is so enticing, as his cock seems to throb with each movement of his tongue against my fingers. 

Removing them, a trail of saliva connecting to his full, cherry-red, bottom lip brings my sodden fingers to his opening. As I press inside, I take his cock in my mouth, distracting him as I feel his tight warmth around one of my fingers. He tenses, but soft moans keep me going. With slow, determined strokes, I press further, feeling his knee bend and his back arch slightly. As he arches, his moans grow stronger and knowing it’s safe, I shift my finger, angling it upward. When he cries out, panting heavily, I know I’ve found his spot. I want to memorise it, and use it to bring him as much pleasure as he can stand. I feel him coming undone with each swipe of my tongue against his cock. I work another finger inside him, but it proves to be too much for him and my mouth is flooded with his essence as his cries of pleasure serenade the bedroom.

“You are really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Harry asks. His chest is heaving, rising and falling as though these are his final breaths. I can’t help but smile as he flips off the blindfold and turns on his side, supporting himself with an elbow. I will ignore the fact I didn’t tell him that he could take it off, because seeing the look in his eyes is enough reason to never make him wear it again.

“No, not trying to kill you, just keep you coming back for more,” I say with a chuckle. His eyes are brilliant, like green jewels, proving that I am the luckiest man in the world. There is no one with eyes like Harry and they pull at me, begging me to come closer, so much so that I feel myself drawn to him inch by inch. Gravity takes over, and the lust in his eyes does nothing for my slowly fading resolve. I don’t want to push, but here we are, at ground zero. His black hair is messy, though this is nothing new, and I can see his Adam’s apple lifting with each difficult swallow. 

“Come here,” he whispers softly, reaching for my face. His thumbs caress my cheek softly as he brings his lips to mine. He tastes like lime and ginger, with a hint of olive oil. He quickly wrestles me flat on the bed, and my head spins as he gives to me what I took from him. If I could float, I would be drifting in heaven, because I have never known pleasure like this with another person. I seem to forget that I have a very willing, very sexy participant in gratifying my needs when the explosion of bliss pulls at me, giving Harry the satisfaction of a job well done. Intimacy is work, and I find myself willing to apply for a permanent position within Harry’s heart, desiring all the benefits of being with him. I feel my heart pounding so heavily in my chest I think it might burst. The look in his eyes is all I need to feel completely at peace with everything and not care about the things that led me to this point. Death, loss, frustration and heartbreak can’t compare to the rising emotion within my chest, spreading out in waves. I don’t even notice as he cleans me, and pulls the covers over us. It’s all a haze as I wrap my arms around him, finding all of the comfort I could ever need in this life. I can’t explain it, but something inside me has snapped. All of the barriers I spent a lifetime erecting are falling before my eyes and I’m not afraid of it. I’m not afraid to enjoy this feeling as long as I have it, even if the fear of loss looms close. 

I’m in love. 

Even if the admission feels heavy, my thoughts are only around him and me, being together. I feel content with the knowledge that I have him for as long as he will have me, and feel a rush of warmth spread through me as he kisses my chin softly. 

“Any plans for tomorrow?” I ask softly, not wanting to break the mood. 

“I almost forgot! Severus gave me these tickets to the Azkaban Carnival, said they were from Remus.”

“I haven’t been to a carnival since I was little,” I say offhandedly and Harry quiets. I look at him, his eyes are closed, and his lips pulled tight. “You’ve never been to one?”

“No,” he admits softly.

“Oh, then we are definitely going.”

“All right.”

His voice sounds wistful and distant, but I ignore it, thinking he’s just tired. He’s been working hard and my only estimation for tonight’s behaviour is that things with Severus are still rough. 

“Draco?”

“Yeah, Harry?”

“I need to get some stuff from my flat, why don’t we stay there tomorrow and I can cook us some dinner?”

“I was thinking dinner out,” I say, and he tenses again. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Draco, I don’t have any money. I won’t get paid until after the show opens and I have nothing. Just let me cook for us, all right?”

I feel horrible. “Of course,” I murmur. I don’t know what it’s like to have financial problems. I can only imagine that whatever his troubles are stem from Ginny leaving. Asking him this is completely out of the question for now, but I will just have to be more vigilant with my observations. 

“Draco, promise me something,” Harry says in a sweet, sleepy voice.

“Anything.”

“Always be honest with me, even if you know it will hurt.”

“I promise,” I reply. I feel the weight of the words crashing around me. Something about my promise seems to make me feel uneasy. Maybe it’s the fact that I have already broken it, or maybe it’s that I know without him telling me, that Ginny wasn’t honest about a lot of things. I don’t believe he was completely innocent either, as he has already shared his lack of vigour in their relationship. It just bothers me. And then a thought occurs to me, one that makes me feel like I might be able to erase some of my guilt.

“Does the name Lucius Malfoy mean anything to you?”

Harry groans slightly and trains his eyes on me. I lock with his, trying not to careen into their depths. “He’s a governor or something, right?”

“He’s my father.”

“No shit?”

“And he’s a former governor. He’s now senator of the state.”

“Fuck, and he did all that shit to you?”

I don’t answer, there’s no reason to. 

“Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

“Because money and power create silence. Intimidation, corruption, it buys anything you want.”

Harry hugs me tight and I return it, feeling safe and desired… loved. Maybe I shouldn’t equate his affections with love on his part, because he probably doesn’t feel the same way about me. 

“Harry, what would you do if someone who cared about you did something wrong, but they did it to protect you?”

“I suppose I would understand. I mean, it depends on the situation. Who knows? Until it happens, I have no idea. Why?”

“No reason, just wanted to see how that mind of yours works,” I say with a smile. 

“Ah, well, right now it’s thinking of sleep. I’m knackered.”

“Get some sleep then.”

Guilt is a horrible thing. On the one hand, guilt is a reminder that, as a person, you have betrayed yourself morally, stepping over the boundaries of comfort in favour of some selfish reason. On the other hand, it’s a feeling that reminds us we are merely human and that we make mistakes, even with the best intentions in mind. So I have already broken my promise to Harry, even though he doesn’t know. Those text message responses to Ginny are going to come back and bite me on the ass, I know it now without question. Somehow, someway, she will contact him like the conniving wench she is, and I will have to explain to Harry that he wasn’t in the best shape to deal with her. I did it to protect him – was it wrong to want to make things easier for him after the fight with Bill – and if protecting him meant lying to him… I had to do it. 

Morality can be so overrated. I didn’t do it to hurt him or her. I did it because as the one picking up the pieces of his fragile state of mind, it was needed. Should I confess myself now or wait until the cat is out of the bag? I won’t bother him now, but I will tell him the truth. I couldn’t stand it if he felt betrayed by my actions. Not after my newest revelation. 

Love. It’s a damn scary thing when you have never known it, or never given it. I suppose Bella loved me in her way, but that isn’t the kind of love I mean. I mean the kind of love that makes your stomach flip and your heart race, the kind that romantics in cinema and print shove down our throats for money. Is there such a thing as that kind of love? Honestly? I can imagine that there is something close to it, or rather, part of me hopes that there is something close to it. I can see myself in ten years, reminding myself that I have done some of the most ridiculous things in the name of love. I broke down my own personal boundaries and let Harry in, and now he holds all the cards, even if he doesn’t know it. So now my only worry is, when do I tell him? I chance sounding like some besotted teenager if I reveal what I feel now. It’s too soon, but all I know is that what I feel is love. It has to be when it’s so foreign, but raw – and so right at the same time. I feel a smile tug at my lips and wish Harry goodnight before drifting off to sleep. 

In the morning, I wake to a tray of croissants, butter, juice and fresh fruit. Harry’s gleaming eyes are staring at me with innocence, something that brings a giddy smile to my cheeks. His personality shines through with his own grin to answer mine. I want to ask what is making him smile, but the warmth in my heart tells me. Happiness.

“It’s after noon already. Eat something and get a shower, I want to relax a little before we leave.”

I nod in response, quickly eating before a nice hot shower. The day is spent is relative silence, neither of us needing to speak. It seems that there more we say, the less we need words, and that is new to me. I like silence, the time to think and analyse is always comforting, but with Harry, there are no thoughts, just feelings. And if I do have thoughts, they are usually questions about him, about who he is and the ways I can find out without being so direct as to ask. Observation is key. When he sleeps, he only uses one pillow, where I use two, and he always has one leg slung from underneath the blankets, even if half of his body seems entangled in mine. He doesn’t snore, but he sometimes talks in his sleep, most of the time it’s lines from the play, though. It makes me wonder what he has picked up about me.

Around seven o’clock, Harry stretches languidly, showing off that amazing stomach of his, each bit of dark hair enticing my libido slightly. 

“You ready?”

He tries to give me the key to the elevator, but I encourage him to keep it. I trust him; there is no reason to close my space to him. It’s so much fuller with him there that I don’t care if we are lovers or friends… just having him around makes life worth experiencing. His soft blush shows me all I need to know and I kiss him gently before responding.

I nod and dress warmly, unsure what the weather is like. If the sky has anything to say, there will be a nice chill to the air, the kind that leaves Harry and I huddled close together when the opportunity presents itself. I am personally looking forward to getting him on a Ferris wheel. In that small, round bucket, I can have him all to myself as the world flutters around us and the relative beauty of the night. The stars will grace us with their blessing as they blink into the sky, and the moon, as she grows fuller with the bounty of the heavens, will be our watcher. 

The ride to the Azkaban Carnival is easy enough, but parking is a nightmare. All around the dusted lot there are people scrambling from point to point in hopes of getting to the rides fast enough to stand in line. I hate waiting, but since this is Harry’s first time, I want to make it enjoyable. As we approach the gates, there are lights everywhere and families with their children all over the place. I see Harry’s line of sight follow a few of the children and understand something that didn’t make sense until now. I’ve never been worried about children, but when Harry and I met, he was expecting a child still. At least, I think he was. I don’t know exactly when he found about his curse, so I can’t be sure. 

Through the entry, there are tables and booths set up with all manner of art. Harry slowly walks through the vendors, taking in the various pieces on display and then moving on. I see his eyes linger on certain pieces, some with wolves or dragons and I feel a bit of excitement. I wonder if he’s always liked dragons or if there is something more to it. We move along, finally breaking into the sticky sweet air of a carnival! All of the cotton candy, caramel dipped apples, funnel cakes and soda one could ever want are for sale and in mass quantities. Below the sweetness, I can smell the acrid scent of grilled onions, peppers and hotdogs. 

We move through the people and Harry takes my hand, gripping it softly. It makes me feel good to know that he is easing into our relationship, not worrying about the others around us. Sure, we draw some heated stares, but they are easy to ignore when those brilliant eyes lock on mine with child-like delight. We watch as people play many of the games rigged to defeat the contestant and eventually move along, watching the many swirling, speeding and jerking rides. Noise surrounds us, but I feel silence encasing us. It is so easy to close off the rest of the world from this moment, because this is all that matters. 

“Hey, let’s go in there,” Harry says, pointing to a large, dilapidated building with shutters that open and close of their own accord. I read the sign above the entry and it says ‘The Shrieking Shack’. It’s large and tilted, reminding me of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. There are gravestones littering the “lawn” of the house and Harry’s eager grip increases on my hand as he leads us towards the angry-looking construct. The doors open as we approach and a piercing scream comes from nowhere. All around us there are cobwebs, and large mirrors that skew our appearance. Harry stops in front of one with a goofy grin and takes a few steps forward, and he turns, but I let my guard down, because as I try to follow, a mirror stops me and I’m left staring at my own startled reflection. 

I feel like I am running in circles when Harry finally comes up from behind me and scares the hell out of me. I am ashamed of the squeal that leaves my throat at his arrival, but this place is creepy. It isn’t creepy because you are alone, or can easily get separated; no, it’s creepy because all you have to see is yourself. All the mirrors make me feel like I am looking at my faults, or looking at the things about myself that I need to change. Some of the mirrors are plain, showing “you”, while others distort you, make you something that you aren’t. It’s very unnerving, especially when I look at some of those distortions, I see my father staring back at me. 

We make it through the rest of the way together, laughing like children as we exit the other side, hearing the faint cries of werewolves and all manner of things that “go bump in the night”. 

“Where to?” Harry asks playfully.

“Wherever our feet take us,” I respond. He still hasn’t shaved, so the stubble is thickening with each passing day. I feel so strange wanting to have him scratch against me, because I never figured myself to like a more rugged man. But here he is, rugged and playful, taunting me with every move. He’s wearing a simple shirt and jeans, looking as comfortable as ever, and me, I opted for looking good, as always. At least when I look at Harry, I don’t see a carbon copy of me. I see him, and what he really is: someone with lots of heart and a lot of flair for life. 

Our feet lead us to the Ferris wheel and I watch as Harry’s eyes widen looking at the large contraption. 

“Hey, let’s go for a ride,” I say, nudging him in the side. 

He looks at me with trepidation written across his features, but I don’t want to accept no for an answer; not when he’s never been to a carnival before. He follows me, but I have the feeling it’s not because he wants to, and ask if everything is all right.

“Yeah, fine,” he says, swallowing heavily. 

The line takes forever and we take our seats, securing ourselves in place. The wheel moves so the next passenger can get in, over and over until we move farther and farther away from the ground, looking out of the carnival. It isn’t until I feel Harry tensing against me that it finally clicks.

“You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?” He turns to look at me, his eyes dancing nervously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wanted to ride,” he replies sheepishly. 

“Yeah, but not at your discomfort! Harry, shit, are you going to be all right?”

“I think so,” he says, looking over the edge. “Shit. This is really high up.”

“Hey,” I say and when he turns to look at me, I capture his lips, hoping to distract him from the monotonous, circular motion of the ride. The only thing this ride is good for is a good kiss. That and the pit in your stomach that seems to hop with each turn of the thing, winding you up until you feel like you are ready to explode. I love that wild jump. It’s the same as I get when I anticipate Harry’s touches. Now that he is safely distracted, I run my hand along his inner thigh, feeling my actions paying off. I move further, ignoring the yells of the conductor as we pass. I begin to unbutton Harry’s jeans and he finally pulls away, his face flushed and his eyes glittering.

“Wha- what are you doing?”

“Taking your mind off the heights,” I say, continuing where I left off. 

“Draco! We’re going to get thrown out of the carnival,” he stammers.

“So what? Here, put my coat on your lap.” I shrug out of my coat, and help him position it so that my hand is hidden, though anyone paying attention will know exactly what’s going on. I continue to unbutton his jeans, snaking my hand below the waistband of his underwear. He lets out a soft moan when the chilly night air grazes his skin. God, he’s so hard and willing. I feel sublime, stroking him underneath my coat, knowing that we could get in some serious trouble for this, but I don’t care. The way his body is trembling next to mine makes me want to feel him in more ways than I am now. 

“Slow down,” he says breathlessly, as I work my hand around his length. My name is a blessing and a curse upon his lips. He recites it, begging for my lips, and I happily oblige as I feel not only own arousal, but the way my body reacts to the turning of the large mechanical wheel. 

“You know, if I knew we wouldn’t get arrested, I would suck that beautiful cock of yours right here,” I say, watching as his eyes roll back and a soft moan slips passed his lips. “I want you to fill my hand, Harry. Imagine fucking me, and me begging for more.” I continue to taunt him verbally as the wheel comes to a stop. We are on the very top, and I stroke him faster, taking advantage of our height. I kiss him as fiercely as I dare and just as the rotation for the next passenger begins, he comes, panting so hard it sounds as though he’s run a marathon. My hand is covered with the remnants of our act and my name becomes a haiku of nonsense against his lips. 

I use my handkerchief to clean us both the best I can. He leans his head on my shoulder, with his eyes closed and his breath coming in hitched replies to the night. 

“You’re mad,” he says as we move closer to the ground.

“That may be true, but by the look of it, you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did! But you’re still mad.”

I chuckle and help him out of the seat. We head to the bathrooms so we can clean up a little better and as we exit, a shorter man approaches us. Behind him, there is a man with almost copper-coloured skin and black hair. 

“You two!”

We both look at one another and the small man growls. “Yes, you two! It is time for you to leave.”

“What?” Harry asks, oblivious to the reason why. I turn to look at him and his cheeks are flushed, but his eyes are twinkling with mischief. I smile at him, but only because of the rush of getting caught in the act. I thought we were quite discreet. At least I didn’t polish him off in the open. I am not a complete ass. But I have to admit that it was exciting because of the chance of getting caught. Now I’m not so sure I feel the same way. In the insane brilliance of the carnival, these two men face us with unhappy expressions and the kind of body language that suggests they are expecting some sort of struggle. 

“Leave,” he says and looks to the copper-skinned man. “Firenze, lead them out.”

“Shouldn’t we contact the police, Griphook?”

“No, just get them out of here.”

I grab Harry’s hand and we head out as quickly as possible. I feel like a teenager again, that first kiss with a boy and all of the rush of adrenalin that goes with it. Outside the gates of the carnival, Harry and I break into peals of laughter. Somewhere in the back of my mind, relief washes over me at the realisation that we will not be arrested nor taken to jail. I didn’t miss the grunts of dissatisfaction that the shorter, uglier man expressed towards Harry and I. I might have misheard him, but his homophobic attitude has me slightly unnerved. I can only hope that Harry didn’t hear him. Shattering the fragile bond we have so early would tear me apart. 

“You drive,” I say, tossing my keys to Harry. He catches them easily, swiping them out of the air like a falcon diving for its prey. The only reason I am giving in and letting him drive is I haven’t seen him drive yet, and second, sometimes it feels good to give up control. I’m glad we dropped his car off at his place before the carnival, making more trips would have just been irritating. 

Harry’s a good driver. He doesn’t shift the gears harshly, nor does he insist on pressing the gas as hard as he can. Each tap of the clutch is smooth, and I imagine him taking that kind of care in all things. For a moment, I feel envious at the attention my car is garnering from my lover, but it is short-lived when he whips the car into a space and turns off the ignition. 

“Hungry?” he asks with a wicked grin.

“Famished,” I respond, feeling the need to get him upstairs as quickly as possible. The more of him I get, the more I want and tonight is no exception. I want to finish what I started at the carnival, but for now, I am content with the promise of his company and a good meal. 

Inside the uncomfortably familiar flat, Harry heads to the kitchen to start our meal. While Harry messes around in the kitchen, I explore his home. It isn’t messy like the last time I was here. Last time he had clothes and books everywhere, but this time all the books rest upright on the shelves in his living room and I browse the many titles. There is everything from Edgar Allen Poe to the Bible, and the same is true for the selection of music. There are CDs of operas, musicals and even the best of Euro trance lining the side of the stereo system. I run my fingers along the buttons, letting the texture tickle my skin. I look around; there are no paintings on the walls, no family photos, nothing. This seems to the sum of Harry’s life: a large home with nothing of value to the heart. Everything seems so empty and maybe it is the lack of decoration, but it seems cold. I never noticed it before, maybe because I was with Harry. But this time it’s different. 

“Draco?” His voice is soft and inviting, as a mother’s arms should be. 

Harry peeks out of the kitchen, his face set with a handsome grin. “Dinner’s ready.”

How long have I been looking around this room? It doesn’t seem like any time has passed at all, but I assume I’ve been in here forever sifting through the visible pieces of Harry’s life. 

Over dinner, we laugh about our activities at the carnival, and he tells me about when he taught the youth at the local school. I can admire him wanting to teach them his craft, and by the way he speaks about it, it gave him something to be proud of. I share my own past with him, telling him about working for S.A.S. as an intern and trying to figure out where I wanted to be. It took me a while, but I think spending time in Japan gave me perspective. Enjoying the nightlife of Shinjuku for a month gave me a lot of ideas. Pity I was never able to visit any of the women’s only clubs. I am sure that I could have picked up some titbits to use at Dragon’s Tail. He is highly amused with the ATMs used in Japan. To be honest, I was at first, too. Seeing the little cartoon schoolgirl was a surprise, but I had to remind myself that is a big part of the culture. Him mentioning selling the flat piques my interest. Could it mean that he is ready to move on from his past, and find a way to incorporate me into his future? I may be reading too much into his words, but it still sends warmth through me at the thought. 

The grilled chicken and rice is simple fare compared to what I am used to, but because Harry made it, I can think of it as stuffed duck or roasted lamb. The flavours are all the same in the end, especially if he put the effort into it. 

Harry begins to clear the plates, and I help, getting them cleaned and in the basket in his sink. 

“What would you like for dessert?” he asks, pulling me against him. His lips trail along my neck, feeding the desire that calmed as we left Azkaban. 

“What are my choices?”

“Hrm, I think I still have some cake, and of course, me,” he says with a sinister smile plastered across his lips. 

“How about I have you and save the cake,” I offer, taking his teasing lips against mine. He wraps his arms around me, un-tucking my shirt from the waistband of my trousers. His hands leave trails of fire along my sides. I pull his shirt over his head quickly, needing to touch him. I can’t explain why, but I feel like I have to touch him, to be against him. 

His hands begin massaging the bulging front of my trousers, sending tendrils of fire through my body. It courses deep, burning everything in its path. As he drops to his knees, the most insane and unbelievable thing happens: the doorbell rings, chiming loudly through the empty flat. 

“Fuck,” Harry says, nearly breathless. 

“Stay right there, I’ll get it.”

Irritation flares within me as I move toward the front door. I take a few breaths before reaching for the coppery handle. As I swing the door open, hoping that my face indicates exactly what was interrupted, my heart plummets. No, this can’t be happening. In my disbelief, I stare at the figure before me. Chin length, straight ginger hair surrounds a petite face with too many freckles for my liking. She greets my gaze with contempt flaring behind her brown eyes. Her build is athletic, and she’s quite busty. A short black skirt drapes from her hips, stopping mid-thigh, with a white blouse and black jacket covering her torso. To finish the look, she is wearing a pair of power heels with nylons darkening her pale skin. 

“So you must be my replacement,” she says with a cold timbre.

“Ginny Weasley?”

“Ah, how kind, he did tell you about me. So, where is he? By the looks of it, I have interrupted something.” 

Before I can speak, Harry’s voice clamps down on my shattering psyche. No! “Who is it?” He walks around the corner and stops dead in his tracks. His shirt is still missing and Ginny pushes past me.

“Glad to know that your new beau shows such hospitality, Mr Potter.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Harry’s voice has suddenly become the kind of weapon that tortures, rather than kills. He looks at me and back to her, but she just sways toward him like she belongs here. Knowing that I am now in the middle of some unresolved issues, I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to leave Harry. 

“When I got the reply to my messages, I thought I would come and see my replacement first hand, Harry. He’s a pretty thing. I never pegged you for being gay, but I guess even men like you have to get your kicks somewhere.”

He looks at me, his eyes flashing with anger. “I knew about the messages, Ginny. I asked you what the hell you were doing here.”

“I never returned the key,” she says holding out a ring with three keys on it. “Do you think we could talk?” Her face is so smug and makes me wish I were into hitting women. The look in her eyes is more telling, though, and it makes me angry to see her toying with Harry.

“You can say whatever you need to and leave.”

“In private, if you don’t mind, Harry. I think you owe me that much.”

The look on Harry’s face screams defiance, but he nods curtly in response.

“Go sit down. I’ll be there in a moment,” Harry says, looking at Ginny. As the wench sways her rounded hips away, Harry ducks into the kitchen and I hear the rattle of keys. When he comes back, he’s wearing his shirt and the blush of passion is completely gone. He extends his hand with my keys and says goodnight. 

“Draco, I need to take care of some things. I will call you when things have blown over.” 

“Harry--”

“Save it,” he says harshly. “Here, take your stuff and leave.” 

Everything is crumbling. She comes back, like the Lady of Shalott in her carved boat. I feel my heart balling up, if that’s even possible. When I step into the hallway, I plead with him, begging him to understand, but there is nothing behind his gaze. As the door closes, I feel the pain amplify and curse my stupidity. 

Fuck!


	22. Revelations and Placing Blame

Chapter 22: Revelations & Placing Blame  
Draco’s POV – Saturday – 22 October 2005

 

I just woke up. The bedroom is bright with the afternoon sun, and I feel like sinking underneath the covers until long after midnight. Hiding away seems to be the best course of action; at least if hidden, I am not moping. If I’m asleep, I’m not remembering. I climb out of bed and go through my routine, and amble toward the kitchen. After a bowl of fruit and a glass of milk, I settle on the couch with my legs crossed as though I am a teenager again. I turn the television on, flipping channels until I land on breaking news, and stop because I see City Hall and a mass of wreckage. A black car stands out and for a moment, my heart catches with fear. Don’t let it be Harry. I feel my feet unfurl and clamp the edge of the sofa as I lean forward with rapt attention to the screen. Rita Skeeter, a local reporter, stands proud with her tightly curled hair and bright red lipstick.

“Thank you, Cornelius. Right now, I am standing outside City Hall in Scottsland, where tragedy struck late last night. In the early hours of the evening, an automobile crashed into the Atrium outside City Hall. The vehicle was in flames when police and paramedics arrived on the scene, and as yet, no bodies have been identified. We couldn’t get a comment from Police Sergeant Rufus Scrimgeour, but we have an eyewitness, Sirius Black, who was on his way home when the car made impact and burst into flames. What did you see, Mr Black?”

“I was on my way home from work and all of a sudden this car just flies off the road and slams straight into the fountain. I don’t know how it happened, but it just burst into flames. The water didn’t put it out and there was debris everywhere.”

“How many people were inside the car?”

“I think there were two, but I can’t be sure.”

“Thank you, Mr Black. We will keep you up to date as information becomes available. Now back to you, Cornelius.”

*****

It’s been a week. Eight days and seven nights have passed without a single word from Harry. I am beginning to lose my patience, while also feeling grateful that I wasn’t foolish enough to admit how I feel about him. Has he decided to go back to Ginny and not even had the decency to tell me? I stopped sleeping in the bedroom this week, at least until the sheets had been changed again on Monday morning. I couldn’t stand the scent of him surrounding me when everything has crashed down so hard. I have never felt so helpless and alone before. At least the space here is so tight that Harry’s absence isn’t as strong. I can feel the floor vibrate with the pulse of the music below and ignore all thoughts of black hair and green eyes. 

In the relative darkness of the room, I can almost feel as though nothing has changed. I opted for as little light as possible this evening. If the prism of colour can shed light on the darkness within me, I don’t want it to; I would rather let the wounds fester until I get my answers. I don’t care if I sound like a sad son-of-a-bitch, but I’m hurting and until the dull ache of my heart ceases, I will remain this way. I let myself fall too fast. I guess this is what they call “head over heels” because that’s how I feel, as though each step twists me inside out and upside down, and each memory of his lingering caresses makes me feel devoid of happiness. 

In my brooding, I’ve been a complete asshole to everyone this week. The only person who still comes around me at the club is Tonks and that’s because she has to. I have to sign off on all orders and purchases. It is times like that this that I wish I could just leave everything to someone else for a few days without checking behind every detail, making sure that the bottom line matches everywhere. I want some time away; I don’t want to be here now. Looking at the couch across the room reminds me too much of my brief moments with Harry for my fragile psyche. I chanced calling him twice, hoping that he might answer, but I just got his voicemail and didn’t have the heart to leave a message. I listened to his sultry accent corner my senses before hanging up. 

Is it over? 

I’ve never had my heart broken by another man before… I’ve only heard people talk about it, and I always felt a measurable amount of disdain for their weakness. Then again, I’ve never been in love before. I’m such a hypocrite. It hurts to know that someone you love is ignoring you or can’t even give you the answers you deserve. I’ve spent too much time with him at this point to easily pry his imprint from my mind and heart. In the little amount of time we have known each other, I have given more to him than anyone else and now I regret it. 

A knock sounds behind the door, and I am tempted to ignore whoever it is. This is the third time tonight that someone has dared bother me, and I imagine that it won’t be the last. I should have never kissed him; I should have never let him take things so far. The knock sounds again and my easily tempted irritation blooms. 

“What is it?” I yell, looking at the dark wooden door with expectation. It opens slowly and Tonks timidly steps inside.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Sirius is downstairs and he’s demanding to see you.” Tonks’ demeanour shows just how poorly I have treated everyone this week. She casts her eyes down quickly, not willing to hold the frustrated gaze I offer in response to her intrusion.

What the hell? Can’t she just deal with whatever it is? “What’s his problem?” I have little patience right now, so why can’t she just handle this situation? 

“He is set to go on last and he’s angry about it,” Tonks says. Her eyes flick around the room, apparently noticing the lack of lighting. 

“Then tell him to get over it! I’m not here to baby-sit drag queens. If he isn’t happy with the rotation, then he can stop performing all together.”

“Is that the final word, sir?”

“Yes, now leave me alone. I have a lot to do,” I snap. I haven’t been like this since Regulus died. Thankfully, I was able to fully immerse myself in work then, but now I’m barely able to concentrate. The fact that the club is already hauling itself out of the financial slums that it was growing accustomed to seems to be unimportant, just as much as the taste of food. Grief. This is grief. I remember it well, although I have never lingered on it for so long before. I haven’t prayed since I was fifteen years old, and starting again after ten years won’t do me any good, but I find myself clinging to the shirttails of hope that Harry will come back. Inside the drawer of my desk, there is a rosary that Bella gave me when I was a boy. I’ve kept it close for a long time, and now the urge to stroke the small beads and plead for redemption presses against me. 

I fumble through the records, double and triple checking the numbers before filing them away. I linger for a moment longer in the darkened room before venturing into the hustle of the club. The drag show won’t begin for a few hours, and I have to admit that part of me wishes to see Harry as I meander through the crowd. I stop at the bar and get a drink, and seeing all these bodies writhe against one another in a less primitive version of mating makes me feel cynical. Apparently Vector knows when I am in need of something strong, because the liquid burns as it flows down my throat. As I finish the drink, sliding the empty glass across the bar, a young redhead stops my hand. His touch lingers, making the muscles beneath the skin twitch in irritation. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He wears a smile of false welcome, eager to move on if rejected.

“No, thanks,” I say, offering a sneer in retribution for his unwanted self-inclusion in my personal space. His eyes are dark and mossy, but his skin is fair, reflecting the lights of the club off of his chiselled face. 

“How about a dance then?”

Time stands still, or at least it seems to as I evaluate the possibility of dancing with a complete stranger when my heart is so entangled with Harry Potter. But Harry Potter isn’t here. All around me are young couples and singles dancing as though the music fuels some basic need within their DNA. 

“Yeah, all right.”

He takes my hand, leading me to the floor as though I am a showgirl, prancing about for his visual pleasure alone. The music spins with intense bass, making my entire body vibrate. The lights blind me as we spin and gyrate, separate, but together. He doesn’t have the same rhythm as Harry, nor is he the same height; everything feels wrong. But what really irks me, sending my brain in to complete rejection mode, is the way he grabs at my body, pawing at me as though were are completely at ease with one another. When I feel his pelvis grinding into mine, and his hands gripping my ass, that’s it, I can’t take anymore. I assume his actions are due to the alcohol he’s imbibed, but his lack of self-control is not impressive. 

“If I wanted a cheap fuck, I would go upstairs to the private rooms. Get your fucking hands off me,” I growl into his ear. He looks affronted by my direct approach, but I couldn’t care a less. 

I pull away and as I scan the room, searching for anyone to talk to other than this man, I catch sight of long ginger hair and broad shoulders. Beside him, the sandy-brown hair of Cedric and the short, dark hair of Krum calls my attention. I feel relief spread over me and wave goodbye to the fellow I was dancing with. I’d much rather spend some time with that lot, and at least I can ask about Harry. I head over to them; Krum and Cedric seem to be wrapped around one another quite tightly, while Bill is off to the side, leaning against the bar. He’s dressed quite smartly in a black suit and leather shoes, while Cedric and Krum are in jeans and t-shirts, reminding me too much of Harry. 

“Speak of the devil! We were just talking about taking this party upstairs! So how about it, Dragon?” Cedric asks with a giddy smile.

I nod. I see no reason why not. Bill doesn’t move when we start away, but Cedric grabs him by the arm, dragging him through the throng of people. He keeps offering me smouldering gazes, but I ignore them. These men are my only source of information about Harry, and I plan to get something from them. They seem to have enjoyed quite a few drinks already, but as long as the tab is cleared, I don’t care. Once upstairs, Cedric and Krum take up seats together on a sofa, while I take one of the chairs and Bill sits as far away from me as possible. I don’t know what his problem is, but so long as it doesn’t translate into a fight like he and Harry had, I’m not worried.

“Haven’t seen you guys in a while, how’re rehearsals going?”

“Oh, man! It’s worse than a soap opera right now. Harry’s ex won’t stop interrupting, and Severus is getting so pissed off he yells all the time. Montague is starting to get hives, he’s so frustrated,” Cedric says. His voice slurs with each word and his cheeks are red from the alcohol.

“Why is she interrupting?” I ask nonchalantly. I don’t want to seem too interested in Ginny or Harry, lest Bill decides he wants to make life difficult. It is his sister, after all.

“Stupid reasons… mainly she says she has to talk to Harry about one thing or another and that it can’t wait. Harry’s a mess. He won’t talk to anyone; he’s so passive it’s unreal. He hasn’t shaved, and he comes in to rehearsals looking more worn down than the day before. At least Severus is off his back about not being submissive enough, though,” Krum says as his face curls into an irritated mask. 

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Why isn’t he talking?” 

“She comes around all the time! She never shuts her mouth. Last night she came over after nine o’clock and started throwing shit. Anything of his that she has, she brings back, and throws it at him. She missed Harry, but she broke about three different pictures and left a dent in the wall. Harry just lets her rant, barely says a word, and she leaves, slamming every door in her way,” Cedric adds. “It’s quite irritating when you are trying to memorise lines or have a normal conversation with people.”

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Bill interjects, finally including himself in the conversation.

“And she’s being completely unreasonable,” Cedric says, never missing a beat, emphasising her lack of consideration for the others in the house. “You heard what she said to Harry last night, ‘I’m glad I lost the baby, I’d hate to explain why its father was less than a man!’ That was just wrong, and even you can’t deny that, Bill.”

Bill opens his mouth and closes it with an audible clap. His face screws up and he inhales before speaking. “Look, she’s a selfish bitch, but she’s gone, so just drop it, all right? She’s gone back home and is hopefully over whatever it is that set her off to begin with. I’m not going to sit here and listen to you bash her all night.”

“Why didn’t you stick up for Harry?” Cedric asks, and I watch Bill’s gaze shift from impassive to angry. The tension in the room rises as we sit, wondering what will happen next.

“Because getting involved in their personal affairs would put me between a friend and my sister. Blood is thicker than water, boys.”

“Well she saw no problem airing their personal business for everyone, did she? How the hell did Harry live with that?” Krum asks.

“Because… he’s too noble for his own good.” Bill stands, heading toward the door. He looks back and offers a weak smile, says, “Goodnight, gentlemen,” and leaves the room quietly. 

“Forget him, he’s still sore about Fenrir leaving,” Cedric says, taking a long swig from his drink. “That girl is a menace. She’s completely broken Harry down. He hasn’t had a smile all week. Maybe you should give it to him good, Dragon. Bring that pretty smile of his back.”

Cedric and Krum break into fits of laughter, but I feel broken inside. If she’s gone, why hasn’t he called? I could help, I could listen to him – anything is better than this silence – if he needed it. 

“When does the show open?” I ask, lost in thought.

“Two weeks. So we actually have a few days off before opening night. I can’t wait. I will never work on a show like this again,” Krum says, nudging Cedric. The tone of his voice is so playful; I feel a surge of jealousy, seeing him with his lover. 

“Good, then you can come to the Halloween party, right?”

The two men exchange glances and both nod. “We’re going to head out. The house should be empty tonight and we plan to make good use of it,” Krum says with a wicked grin. I can tell what they are going to do, and feel a stab of jealousy, but I wonder where Harry is. If the house is supposed to be empty, then where would Harry be… at his flat? Why would he be there? If Ginny is gone, I see no reason for him to go home, unless he just needs some personal space. I can imagine this week has been hell on him, and I feel selfish for not understanding. I can only guess what happened to that woman to make her leave, but it doesn’t matter in the end. She left without a word and it wasn’t fair to Harry. 

In the spirit of forgetting some of the shit going on in my personal life, I decide to observe the drag show this evening. Lovie Rekshin is supposed to add a bit of pyrotechnics to her show this evening; I might as well watch and see if the crowd thinks it’s worth it or not. I head downstairs, and stay in the back, near the bar as I observe. The lights drop and Hagrid comes on stage in a bright yellow dress, doing nothing for his figure. He must really like that blonde curly wig, because he’s wearing it again and it’s sitting high, so he must be using a balloon underneath it again. That man isn’t right. Only Hagrid would use a balloon to lift his wig properly. 

I ignore the announcements and watch the crowd. When the curtains open, Lovie Rekshin is dressed in a tribal style outfit, her midriff exposed, and heels with leather thongs lacing all the way to the bottoms of her knees. There are black stripes painted across her face, with a large serpent crawling and coiling in the centre of her abdomen. It’s very Amazon, making me think of sitting under the stars in a field on a balmy night. Green lights flash everywhere, with orange spreading out with star and crescent moon-shaped stencils covering the floor. The opening drumbeat starts and a jet of flames bursts from her mouth, making everyone gasp with delight, some in fear. Personally, I have seen this show three times and it only gets better with each rotation. Most of the dancing is like a snake, and with each major drumbeat, she spits more fire, until it begins to wind down with the synthesisers and she wields a long rope-like whip, dancing with flames. The whip winds around her body faster and faster until the song ends with a loud clash of cymbals and bass drum. Her hands crash against the stage loudly and the fire dies along with the lights. The curtains close, and by the looks on the faces in the crowd, they enjoyed it immensely. 

The next song begins and the roar of the crowd quiets as the next queen comes out. I watch in fascination until the end, keeping an eye on the audience for their expressions, whether their attention is rapt or if they are growing bored. As with all mixed crowds, there are people who demand instant gratification, disliking the slow build before the climax, and there are those who live for being teased until the end, appreciating every slow step that takes them on the journey. I like the slow build, because when the end comes, I can appreciate the catharsis of being completely at the performer’s mercy until the last second. It is rare that anyone captivates me that way, but one man has. 

The night winds on slowly, and my weariness is finally starting to settle over me. I find Tonks in the back, trying to get all of the drag queens settled down. Some are complaining because of their cues, others are just being raunchy for the sake of attention. Seeing Tonks handle them with fire and determination makes me feel good about appointing her as manager. Not much longer now, and I can climb in bed and sleep until the sunlight finally becomes too much for my sleep-laden mind. 

After helping get all the trash taken out, shutting off all the lights and checking the safe, I lock up my office and walk the staff out. It’s cold tonight. I feel the air biting at my skin and wrap my coat tightly around me. I feel like half of me is missing. Maybe I need to eat more… Inside the car, I turn the stereo up loud to keep me awake on the drive home. I don’t know if it actually works, but I like to think country music, something I hate, will keep me wide-awake. 

There is no traffic on the streets of the city as I make all of the appropriate turns before reaching Slytherin Tower. I feel my feet dragging against the floor surface as I walk toward the elevator. The ride up feels like it takes forever, my tired thoughts swimming around Harry, missing him, hoping that he is coping well enough with the stress that Ginny is putting on him. If Cedric quoted her right, I’m sure he’s hurting from her comment. She not only insulted his manhood, but used a low blow to most likely manipulate him. How can she use the dead child as leverage? I don’t understand some people. Did she think that her words would somehow bring them back together? I can’t imagine him taking her back, but there is that niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach that hardens with each thought of her. 

The bell finally chimes and I step into the foyer, and see a rose on the table. I guess Ms Jorkins thought I needed something to add life to my otherwise drab penthouse. I take a closer look at the long-stemmed flower and see that there are no thorns on the stem, and I pick it up, inhaling the sweet, tantalising scent. It reminds me of spring and the light rains that coat the city. Hufflepuff Garden has a large area of roses of all varieties and colours. If one isn’t afraid of the bees, visiting the garden is a great way to spend an afternoon. I’d like to take Harry there one day. Leaving my coat in the closet in the foyer, I head to the bedroom.

Carrying the rose with me, I place my keys on the kitchen table, tracing the petals across my lips. It’s so soft and the colouring is brilliant, soothing away some of the stresses with such a simple touch. I never thought a flower could steal my breath this way, but it has. I’ll have to endeavour to thank Ms Jorkins for her kindness.

What I love about my bedroom is there is no need to turn on a light to see in the dark. By the light cast from Hogwarts Square, I can manoeuvre in and out with no trouble. If I pull the great curtains lining the large frame, I can pretend I am in a cocoon of solitude, hiding away from the world. Inside the bathroom, I strip down to my briefs and grab a shirt from the cabinet in the bathroom. I’m just ready to crawl in bed and sleep away the tension. I must be blind or so tired that I’m missing little things… in my surprise, I drop the rose, hearing it hit the carpet softly. Someone is in my bed. They seem to be sleeping, and the closer I get, I can smell alcohol, even over my own smoke - and spirits - drenched skin. 

The smart thing would be to leave, but I want to know who has taken it upon themselves to invade my home. Through the rising fear, sense breaks through. It can’t be. So I don’t disturb my guest, I move to the left side of the bed to get a look at him. I know who it is without question, when a soft sigh encases the room and he turns over. Harry. He’s here. Why is he here? Bill said that Ginny was gone, but why is he here? He hasn’t called all week, he hasn’t said a word to me, nothing to let me know he’s okay and now he’s here, in my bed as though it’s his. I back against the wall and take a seat, leaning against the smooth surface for support. My heart is thudding wildly as I try to figure this out. I’m angry, but at the same time so relieved that he’s here that I don’t want to be angry. He shoved me out and didn’t say a word, and now he’s here. It hurts to be shoved away, and then he steps back in as though he never left. 

I watch as he sleeps, restlessly turning every few minutes, his body tense and hair everywhere. He’s in the middle of the bed, but with each movement, he skirts closer to the edges of the mattress, only to find the middle again. My eyes follow the exposed skin of his chest as the sheet and comforter slide over him with each movement. I want to memorise his face and body, even if he’s only here to remind me that we, as a couple, are through. I’m so tired. I feel my eyelids closing heavily. I keep them open, but only from sheer will alone. I want to see him. I have missed him so much this week. He lets out a long sigh and shifts in bed once again. He turns toward me and I freeze, unsure if he will appreciate being watched. Cedric and Krum weren’t kidding. To look at Harry, he’s lost weight and he has dark rings under his eyes. It makes me hurt to see him this way. His eyes open slowly, and then snap shut again against the light filtering into the bedroom.

“Draco?” his alcohol and sleep-laden voice calls, questioning my location. 

“Here,” I offer, remaining stiff against the wall. My voice sounds cold, even to my ears as I watch him sit up in the bed.

He looks at me with a silly grin on his face and softly says, “Hello.”

I don’t speak; instead, knowing that he’s here, I am ready to sleep. I stand and head out, ready to sleep on the couch since Harry is in my bed. 

“Where are you going?” he calls sleepily as I make unsteady steps from the room. 

“Go back to sleep, Harry. It’s late, I’m tired, and I don’t want to fight.”

“Fight? Why would we—”

“I’ll be out here,” I say and begin taking unsteady steps again. I hear the bedding shift, and as though I never moved, his hand closes around my shoulder.

“Draco,” he whispers, “don’t leave.” I can hear the hurt in his voice, damning me, making my heart pound harder, making everything seem surreal. I don’t want to admit how much I missed him; I don’t want to admit to loving him, so instead I cling to my frustration from being left in the dark for an entire week. 

“Go back to sleep, Harry. I’ll be on the couch.” I try to wrench my arm free, but he tightens his grip.

“I’m not going back to sleep, not until you come with me.” His eyes are dancing, but not with the light I have become accustomed to. No, they are dancing with uncertainty, and I can only feel all the frustration over the last week dragging me into its web, wrapping around me until the anger flares, blinding me with its insensitivity. Why the hell am I being so stupid? I feel the rise of the words and they fall from my lips as easily as ‘I love you’.

“Did you fuck her?” I snap without thinking. I feel it stinging him, but also stinging me. The words came before I could stop them, and now, looking into those brilliant green eyes, I see the hurt that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“What? Why the hell are you asking me that?” He releases my arm and takes a step away.

“Isn't it obvious?” 

“No,” he says, his eyebrows scrunching with hurt and sadness. 

“Stop being so fucking innocent,” I say softly, but the tone nowhere matches the venom on my tongue. There is no turning back. I’ve already let the beast of jealousy attack him and regardless of how bad I feel about it, I can’t take it back. “Did you fuck her?”

“Stop being so childish, Draco. I said I would call you when everything blew over. Zephyr re-routed the storm, all right? It's over. With her. I have my answers. It's your turn.”

The guilt tears at me, and I stop myself from saying anything more damaging. It’s not fair. I don’t even know all of the circumstances surrounding her disappearance and reappearance… I don’t know why I am being such an ass. I try to calm myself, locking eyes with him. “Harry, I'm tired, we can deal with this in the morning.”

“Fine,” he says with defeat. “Please, Draco, come with me. I’ve missed you.” He takes me in his arms, forcing all the anger and frustration away. It feels so good to touch him again, not pleading with him to listen. Part of me feels so selfish for the way I have treated him. My words were harsh, and now I feel like I have let him down in some way. 

I’ve missed you, too. I’m so sorry… The urge to speak those words is so strong, but I can’t make my voice work around the lump in my throat. “Please, come to bed with me,” he says softly, kissing my cheek. I can’t say no, and feeling his body against mine again is delightful and thrilling. I have so missed this. I remember the rose on the floor, and pick it up, thanking Harry, because now I know that it was Harry who brought it. After placing it on the bedside table, I crawl under the covers with him and he snuggles against me. It feels like nothing happened, but in the back of my mind, the pressure is there. The knowledge that things are about to change, whether for the best or not.

I feel my body reacting to his so subtly, and push the desires away, trying to avoid making matters more complicated. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just know at some point I wake up, the sunlight drifting across the bedroom. My face is flush with Harry’s neck, and the swell of his backside presses against my straining erection. I can’t help rocking into him, reaching around to see if he’s feeling the same. Just touching him again sends shivers of desire through my veins. He’s just as hard as I am, and I can’t stand it. I want to touch him, but as soon as I slide my hand under the band of his briefs, he stops me with a moan. 

“No, hurts,” he says sleepily. He twists around to look at me, his eyes barely open. “If it didn’t hurt, you could play all you want.”

“You’re having an outbreak?” I whisper, not wanting to break the early morning spell.

“Yeah,” he says with a groan, stretching. “I’m going to take a shower. We can talk when you get up, all right?”

“Yeah,” I say with a nod, feeling my muscles protest the response. By the time the taps turn and he’s in the shower, I’m already asleep again. Dreams of life a week ago taunt my mind and body, making me feel even more frustrated. When I wake up, I can tell it’s already later in the afternoon by the brightness of the sunlight caressing the room. I stretch, wondering where Harry is. I can smell the odour of stale smoke and sweat, and get up to shower. Under the spray, I let all of the grime float away, including my irritation. Harry’s answer - or lack thereof - of whether or not he slept with Ginny is enough for me. I don’t think he did, and I now feel horribly guilty for assuming he would. Him being here last night when I came home shows me it isn’t over. Does this mean the next step? What exactly is the next step…? Taming my libido is the first, I believe. I want Harry comfortable, and if he’s having an outbreak, then that only means it will be a few days before he will even think about allowing me to touch him. 

After I shake the water off, and towel dry, I brush my teeth and dress in a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. When I walk out of the bedroom, I look around for Harry. I don’t see him on the couch, so I head toward the kitchen, when I see him sitting in front of the large window facing Hogwarts Square. His knees are bent against his chest, and arms resting around them with his head lolled to the side slightly, showing off the beautiful curve of his muscled neck. I chance breaking the silent spell around him by speaking, “Harry?”

He turns in the chair and smiles softly. “Hey, sleep well?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Best all week.” His eyes never leave mine, and it makes me happy. The dark circles are gone, and even though he still looks tense, it isn’t as pronounced as last night. Now I just need to make sure he is eating… he still looks like he’s lost some weight. 

“Have you eaten?”

“No,” he replies lazily. God, I have missed him. The way looking at him makes my heart feel, the way seeing him makes me feel so content… I don’t want to be without him again. We have to get this straightened out. I’m not ready to kiss it all goodbye just yet, not when he makes me feel so whole. 

“Hungry?”

“I could eat.” He looks content. His facial expressions are relaxed, unlike they were earlier while he was sleeping. His eyes sparkle, but it might just be the sunlight reflecting off their mirror-like surface. 

“Come on,” I say, holding out my hand. He looks so vulnerable, and I just want to comfort him. I have never wanted to wrap my arms around someone and shield them from the world before, but with him, in this moment, I want to protect him from everything. I don’t know if that will be my place in his life, but I’m willing to listen. I don’t think he would have asked me to sleep with him if he planned on leaving for good… I don’t see him as a callous man. He’s too kind, noble, Bill said. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Harry is too noble for his own good. But if that’s the case, I can find myself being strongly attracted to his sense of righteousness. Maybe in the end, he will protect me. He’s already done so much… he did something that a greater man in all aspects couldn’t do, and that was make me fall in love with him. It’s not to say that Harry is less a man than Regulus, no, but what Regulus was is nothing like Harry. He was an artisan, a man of philosophy and book smarts, where Harry knows so much about feeling and people that I find myself appreciating what he is more and more at every turn. 

At the table in the kitchen, I lay out some fruit and toast, watching as he butters his liberally before sinking his teeth into the scratchy food. I watch as he carefully sips his tea, and then looks at me with the most innocent expression I have ever seen. “So…”

Now the discomfort sets in. The fear of rejection, the fear of a fight that I won’t win – but would rather submit to than lose him. “Harry--”

“No, let me. I’m not mad, Draco. I just need some time to digest everything. I think I understand why you sent those messages to her, so no worries, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s eat, and then we can talk,” he says with a smile. Seeing that smile makes my worry disappear. I know I will do a lot of listening, but I don’t care. Whatever it takes to show him I care.


	23. Discussions and Truth

Chapter 23: Discussions & Truth  
Harry’s POV – Sunday – 23 October 2005 through Sunday – 30 – October 2005

 

Silence. I feel like my thoughts are louder than the water dripping in the sink. Maybe it’s just that I have so many thoughts right now that I can’t seem to get any of them to make sense. I feel like a crowd of thousands of people are giving a standing ovation in my head, begging the show to go on. But there is no show, only the pitch black reality of the last week, and the look of uncertainty on Draco’s face as he looks at me with unanswered questions. I see them bubbling behind his eyes, like the full moon, bright and unforgiving. His hair is loose, falling around his face in soft waves as he takes small bites of toast and sips his coffee. I hear the saucer singing as his cup hits it, and he repositions it safely. Every movement is calculated. I don’t want to make more noise than Draco does, so I maintain my hold on my cup, even if the hot liquid within it is burning my hands. Bitter words rest on my tongue. Not words I want to speak, rather words I wish to swallow, keeping them from the forefront of my mind. In the unrest of my heart and mind, I want to lash out at everyone, especially at Ginny. What she did was completely unforgivable, her words, her shallow accusations and worse, petty demands. There is no link remaining between us, never again. The line of communication has been severed for my sanity. 

As I grow weary of holding the hot mug in my hands, I finally place it back on the table. I feel Draco’s eyes on me, and I don’t mind his obvious scrutiny. Under half-lidded eyes, I, too, have been watching him carefully. To say that I missed him this week would be an understatement. I didn’t miss him, I longed for him unlike I have ever longed for another person. My self-imposed exile only made matters worse, and now I am paying for it. Bill told me I was too noble for my own good, now I wonder if that’s a character flaw or a strength. I see those silver eyes watching every move with quiet comfort, although the silence is becoming almost unbearable for me. I ask myself if I am bitter about the recent turn of events, but I have yet to find an answer. For eight days, I have asked myself if I am bitter yet, and I can only act and re-act as though I am some automaton. Not fighting with Ginny gave me much more to think about, to carefully choose my words, aiming them when needed, striking the intended target every time. So many bitter words, so many tears – hers, not mine – that I no longer wish to soothe. There was a time when those tears would make my heart ache and my body feel weak, but no more. There is no love lost, no love left for the woman who would rather sink to silly insults and mock who I am. Though who I am now is completely new and foreign to her. I don’t think she has it in her to understand what it’s like to have to come to terms with so many new things… granted, her situation was a lot of new things, but I can’t let myself feel responsible for that. It wasn’t my fault, and the more I tell myself that, the less her words will sting in the future. 

At some point, I stop eating, unsure whether I can continue to chew my food. Everything is so very robotic in nature that I stop, feeling no comfort in the action. I do take my mug again, hiding behind its security. Draco taught me that, and I have to admit, it’s served its uses quite a bit since that day at the support group. When Ginny flung insult after insult, I just sipped, knowing that eventually she would leave, or the others would toss her out. I wonder if I was always so blind to her attitude, or did I chose to ignore it in favour of what I thought was love? I don’t remember her being so cold, or maybe it’s just that I didn’t see her enough to truly recognise when the change occurred. It’s been a week and I opted for ignoring Draco rather than talking to him. Why is it so hard to say I’ve missed you, This week was shit without you, or even Seeing you makes this week seem like a bad dream? Am I supposed to feel this way? On the surface, Draco and I seem like two completely different people, but deep down, there we are, kindred spirits. I understand him more than I’d like to admit in the circumstances. Whether I would actually invade someone else’s privacy or not, I don’t know, but as much as I hate to admit it, I see why he did it. I don’t think he intended to hurt me, but because of the situation, I feel slightly betrayed by his actions. I look up and offer a smile, because I truly feel happy being here with him. His soft expression makes my heart quiver in response and I know it’s still there. All of the fear that it would be over melts away and I am glad I came last night, even if I wasn’t sure how things would turn out in the end. 

“Are you finished?” he asks, his voice soft and even. If I were to speak, my voice would tremble with the amount of emotion I am feeling. Instead of speaking, I nod, watching as his long body stretches across the table and he clears my plate. As his back is turned, I finish my tea and make my way toward the two chairs beside the bookshelves. It’s nice to look over the square, and maybe it will get my tongue working. Because right now, there are no words, only lots of emotions, confusion and anger being the strongest ones. Disappointment and loss are there, but I am used to them as a whole. The sunlight covers my skin, spreading the warmth from the inside, out. The leather caresses my skin and I hear the plates clank against one another as Draco cleans them. I feel so safe again, something that I sorely lacked while Ginny was around. I almost wish she had never told me my parents' names, going to see Aunt Petunia didn’t go how I thought it would at all…

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia live in a small house on the edge of Scottsland. The houses are all carbon copies of one another, each with hedges lining the front lawn, iron fences and rose bushes in numbers. Coming back here is not my idea of fun. I never wanted to return to this street or this house when I left. Grimmauld Street is long, and winding, with plenty of privacy from the rest of the world. As I pull up to number twelve, I look at the two storey home with contempt. There is nothing but bad memories associated with this house, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. If my parents had known how the Dursleys would be, would they have left me with them? I was always forced to wear Dudley’s cast-offs that could serve as a tent for a homeless family. When they couldn’t lock me away in the smallest room of the house, they made sure I knew how much I was hated. 

I park in front of the house, looking at the perfect maroon shutters on the front window. They are pristine, too perfect for such an imperfect family. It’s like the house has to hide the strange darkness within. The mask that covers all of the malice and prejudice within sits perfectly in place, never shifting no matter how hard the wind blows. I survey the grounds, noting that Aunt Petunia seems to have planted more obnoxious flowers, even adding a bench to the less than impressive garden. It’s not like she and Uncle Vernon would ever sit there together, he’d take up the entire surface. The freshly mowed lawn teases my senses, sending jolts of bitter emotion through my bones; the grass is short and pointed like Vernon’s sharp tongue. In the drive, their silver jeep stands proudly, a trophy of their so-called wealth. After all of the emotional shocks this week, I am not sure I am ready to confront this demon, but I have been denied basic information far longer than I deserve. The walk to the house is short, but my heart it pounding as though I’ve been running for hours. Maybe it’s just my way of bracing for the inevitable. I know that Aunt Petunia won’t be welcoming, she never has been. The jeep is here, so that means Uncle Vernon is home and most likely sitting in his favourite chair with a cup of tea, and the newspaper in hand. 

I stand in front of the ornate door, willing myself to knock, because I have never had the honour of owning a key to this house. I feel my knuckles rap against the wood, but don’t remember lifting my hand. Twenty heartbeats later, the door opens and Aunt Petunia stares at me, her face curling into a sneer of disgust. Her hair is styled to perfection, her lips painted with the latest autumn line and her cheeks blushed lightly with a copper shade that doesn’t suit her skin tone at all. Her eyelids are dusted with an orange hue that would suit a clown better. Her dress matches the rest of her, and unfortunately, the shoes do as well. I sigh, asking myself why I am here.

“What do you want? I thought you said you were never coming back,” Petunia snaps. She always did have a way with words. 

“I need to ask you a few questions,” I reply, feeling the tension ebb within me as my stomach flips with the realisation that I may not get the truth here.

“Well come in! I don’t want the neighbours staring!” Her tone is cold and so calculated. She only cares about what they think, not whether she could help me fit the ambiguous pieces of my life together. As I follow her to the kitchen, she turns to eye me over her shoulder. “You look like hell. In here,” she says, motioning towards the small room at the back of the house. “I don’t want to disturb Vernon. You know he doesn’t want to see you.”

“How could I forget?” I chance under my breath, but she hears me and the disgusting point of her nose nearly touches her curled lips. 

“How can you still be so ungrateful after all these years, boy? We did everything for you.”

“Right, you always fed me and made sure I had proper clothing,” I say, hoping she hears the sarcasm. After so many years of enduring this treatment, I am embittered, no longer feeling like I have no say in the way I let people treat me. I am no longer a child; I am a man. These people poisoned everything about my youth, making my life something that was to be ashamed of rather than being proud of – even if I’m still unsure with where the pride comes from. But I am here for a reason, even if the sour taste of resent licks at my tongue, willing me to release it upon my mother’s sister.

“You always were ungrateful,” she says, gesturing to the chair at the far end of the table. “What do you want? I have a lot to do today and I can’t spend the entirety of it talking to you.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me my mum and dad’s names?” My aunt hisses her disapproval at this line of questioning, but I don’t allow her the opportunity to run. “Why wouldn’t you ever answer me when I asked about them? I had a right to know about them, something, anything,” I say.

“What do you want to know, Harry? Do you want to know that they were good people? Is that what you want to hear? I think you want some fairytale of heroic parents, but weren’t heroes, they were lazy and did nothing with their time. My sister was a disgrace.”

“Why won’t you say her name?”

The glare of disdain comes again, but this time her eyes look different. “Our parents disowned her, you know. They said no daughter of theirs should ever desert her country, no matter what. But she did. She came to America, because she wanted to be as far away from us as possible… then she met your father,” she says. The way her voice twirls around ‘father’ makes me feel ashamed, although I can’t explain why. I always knew she hated taking me in, but the tone of her voice suggests she wishes I were never born. 

“What were their names?” My voice is more a growl than I expect, but the tone of my voice brings back the sneer that I am familiar with and it is oddly comforting to know that some things never change.

“What does it matter, Harry? They are dead, long dead. And if they hadn’t been so keen on being heroes, they might not have died,” she says waspishly, but the look on her face tells me she’s said more than she wanted. It’s as though my parents are some great secret – one that I am not entitled to know. 

I feel my hands bunch tightly under the table, trying to avoid making this harder. I know their names, but I learned them from someone else, not the person who should have told me. “You owe me that, Aunt. You have never said a word about them unless it was to tell me how useless they were, so give me this one thing. I want to know about them, their names, what they did.”

I can see the irritation flaring in her eyes, willing me to cease to exist. She is quiet for a long time before she speaks.

“Evans. Lily Evans and James Potter.”

Hearing their names confirmed makes my heart flutter with pride. 

“How did they die?” My voice sounds so small as I pose the question to my only living relative. 

“Car crash. That’s all I know. Now are you done? I have things to do.”

“Where did they work?”

“I don’t know, now leave. Vernon will be ready for his dinner soon.”

“No! You know more, and I deserve to know.”

“Get out, Harry. Don’t come back.”

“Do you hate her so much that you won’t even tell her son the truth?”

“No, I don’t hate her, I hate you. You have been nothing but a burden, and I don’t have to deal with you anymore. Now go before Vernon comes in here.”

The sound of Draco taking a seat next to me brings me back to the present. The contradictory feeling of comfort, shadowed by the awkward feeling gnawing at my insides is becoming quite overwhelming. I don’t know what I am afraid of… it’s not like it will hurt Draco to tell him what happened with Ginny. I suppose my biggest concern is that amidst all of the chaos of my life, he will decide it’s too much for him. He already has enough problems of his own and me adding to them will only complicate matters. These are my burdens to bear, and I wonder if it will matter in the long run if he knows about Ginny and her problems. The unfortunate thing is that they are mine by proxy, because of the circumstances surrounding her losing the baby. It’s your fault! How can she blame me? If anything, I wanted to keep her closer, but she insisted on supporting her selfish habits and to do that, she needed the money that working for her parents offered. At least a lot of the behaviours she displayed in the past two months make a lot more sense now. I want to understand why I am so torn. I turn to look at Draco, his pale hair is hanging loosely around his face, framing his pale skin for display. He’s so bloody beautiful. I don’t know when it all changed, but the idea of being with a woman is completely grotesque, a foreign feeling that I never wish to re-visit so long as I have Draco in my life. His arctic eyes meet mine, and I feel my heart stop, but only for a moment before thumping loudly in my ears. An angelic smile animates his face and deep down I know that he, too, feels the perfection of being together, even if I can’t explain it yet.

I don’t know where to start. There is the nagging inside me that says just tell him everything, make it clear that I am completely over Ginny and that there is no turning back. The more conservative side of me says to just deal with it, not to worry him with my troubles, but in those grey, icy depths, I can see him begging for answers to troubling questions. Do I know more than I did before Ginny left? Yes, but probably not as much as I wanted to know, and I will probably never know all the answers, that’s just a sad truth in life. I don’t know where to start… but sometimes the beginning isn’t the place, so maybe I should just appease his fears directly.

I stare out the window again, because looking at him will just make it harder to explain. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“All right.” I can hear the relief in his voice. Though to be honest, I feel a sense of relief as well. 

“I never want to sleep with her again, Draco. I am with you, and I’m not a disloyal man.” I can see the shame in his eyes, but it’s gone quickly. I wonder if he’s just good at wearing masks, too. I try to remember when I met him, how he acted; he was so cold, so distant, and now, he’s my own personal book to read and analyse however I want. He lets me see him; at least that’s what I think. I’d like to think that him showing me these parts of him means that I am closer than anyone else has ever been. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call, but trust me, it would’ve been more than you probably would’ve wanted to deal with. I wasn’t kidding, Ginny and I never resolved anything. She left, that was it, and now I have more insight, albeit some of it was not what I wanted to hear. Some of the insights were more like nightmares, really.”

“Nightmares, what do you mean?”

“She says she was raped…” I begin. I feel the weight of the words for the first time speaking them aloud. It’s like a dam has burst and I feel the weight of the water settling over me, crushing the words from my throat. “…And that’s how she lost the baby and contracted herpes.” I breathe out heavily, feeling my hands tremble, although I don’t know why. Maybe part of me does feel responsible. Aren’t men supposed to take care of the women they love? The fact that there is no love lost between the two of us now makes me wonder exactly why I feel so affected by her trials. Maybe because a part of me will always care for her, even if I can never love her. I hear Draco breathing heavily, but I don’t look at him. It makes it easier to think about talking to an empty room, where there are no judges. “She blames me for it…” There, I said it. It doesn’t hurt that she blames me, no, it pisses me off. How dare she think that she has the right to blame me for something I had no control over, especially when we weren’t even in the same state! 

“She blames you? How can she do that?” Draco asks, his voice low, but I can hear something behind the words, spite; maybe he feels just as incredulous about the whole thing as I do. I personally can’t understand it…

“She said I was supposed to protect her, she said that was my job and that I couldn’t do anything right. I suppose to her, I should have paid her for all services rendered as well,” I say bitterly. 

“Harry, I hope you don’t believe that.” 

“No, I’m not that foolish. But it pisses me off. I’m more angry with myself, and angry with her, rather than angry for her. There wasn’t a thing I could have done to help her. If anything, she didn’t protect herself. I’m not saying it’s her fault, but I tried to get her to stop working so much. Her own curiosity got the best of her. She said she overheard some reporters discussing some high profile murder case from years ago and she claims my parents were involved. I went to talk to my Aunt Petunia, but she didn’t know anything, or at least wasn’t willing to tell me anything outside of confirming their names and saying that they died in a car crash.”

“You don’t think your parents were murderers do you?”

“No, but something happened to make them leave London. ‘She was a disgrace’, that’s what Petunia said. Why can’t anyone just give me a straight answer?”

“Maybe to protect you?”

“From what?”

“I don’t know. Well, if your parents were murderers, would you honestly want to know? If you knew that, how would you feel about them? You said you remember what they look like, what do you feel when you think about them? You don’t think they were bad people, do you?”

“I- I don’t know,” I say, feeling slightly dumbstruck. It’s such an obvious question, one that I have yet to ask myself. How would I feel? “What if they did it because they had to? It’s still murder, but it’s self-defence. If you had hurt your father after what he did to you, it wouldn’t have been wrong, would it?” I ask, feeling unsure of myself.

“Ah, good question. See, I’m too much of a coward. I would never strike out against him; instead, I let him hurt me because I was foolish. As soon as I had the chance, I ran away. I never looked back, Harry, and I don’t plan on it. I refuse to feel guilty about things I can’t change.”

“Why?”

“Because it just eats away at you. If you are unsure of something and you let it bother you, it’s always there. Trust me. It’s not easy to let go of some things, while others are easier to deal with. I came to terms with the fact that my father is a bitter, possibly insane, individual, but I don’t think it has any bearing on who I am. Do you think that your parents being who they are, changes you in some way?”

“No.”

“Exactly. You are who you are, Harry. If they were murderers, well, they are dead now, right? So whatever it is that happened can’t hurt you,” Draco says, his voice stern, but supportive in its wave-like tone, crashing against me evenly, then embracing me with comfort. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Maybe he’s right. Maybe it doesn’t matter what happened, but for my own peace of mind, I want to know. But what if it does change me in some way? 

I lean back in the chair, feeling all of the weird tension thrum through me, and then the stern reminder of Ginny’s last gift to me rears its ugly head, making me feel like bugs are crawling beneath my skin. And I don’t have any of my medicine with me… I left it at the flat.

“Draco, what medicine do you take for,” I start, feeling self-conscious about asking, “herpes?”

“Old stuff. You forgot yours, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t really think I would stay here and wait for you last night.” Which is true. When I left the flat, I just drove, and when I stopped, I was outside the Tower. I wanted to be near him, I needed to be near him and without thought, found myself riding the lift until I stepped into his foyer and stumbled toward the bedroom. I had a little more to drink than normal, and probably shouldn’t have driven, but I needed to be with him. 

“What are you taking?”

“Valtrex.”

“Ah, see they won’t change my meds because what I take works. When I was diagnosed, Acyclovir and one other pill was all they had. Maybe we should get dressed and go get it?”

“All right.” Draco heads away, when I don’t follow, he stops and looks at me. “Sorry. Was just wondering, what’s it like for you?”

“An outbreak? Probably not nearly as bad as it is for you. I’ve had it for ten years now, so it just itches a little. I rarely even take my medicine for it. I just deal with it. I haven’t had any actual blisters in over seven years, Harry. Why, what’s it like for you?”

“Still blisters.”

“How long ago did you find out?”

“The day we met was only two days after I first started taking medication.”

“Jesus, you are new. I’m sorry, Harry.” He wraps his long, strong arms around me, making me feel safe and far away from the stresses of the past week.

“I guess I’m glad it happened, in a way,” I say, hoping he understands. I don’t want to have to admit that I feel so much for him already. Admitting to falling for him already would probably only complicate matters. There are so many things we haven’t discussed, or learned about one another. However, I wonder, are those things even important? Even if he does have a penchant for spending money, he seems to respect my lack of it… and religion, well, I’m not religious, but if he is, that doesn’t bother me. Politics we can take as they come. I’m fairly open-minded about most things, and from what I have seen, he is as well. 

“Why?” I bury my head in his shoulder, feeling his collarbone against my cheek. “Are you blushing?” He lifts my face, but the smile he’s wearing makes me smile too. “You are! Why are you blushing, pretty bird?” His voice is so soft, pulling me in, making my heart flip. His lips part, glistening with saliva and I want to kiss him. My body reacts to his touch, and I close my eyes to will it away, it hurts too much.

“Because I met you,” I finally manage. Why I feel so giddy, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I am falling for him that I feel so light-headed. I’m not shy, but around him, I am; around him, I want to do the kind of things I’ve only heard or read about in books. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m glad, too. Although, it would have been nice if neither one of us had to deal with this.”

“True, but then that would make it too easy,” I say.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Make everything seem so blasé? You are much calmer about your situation than I was. I think I pouted for months before I started talking to anyone again.”

“Ah, well, I guess I know that I can’t do anything about it. It doesn’t mean I like it, but you were fifteen when it happened. If anything, I had to grow up fast and learn how to deal with a lot of shit to take care of myself.”

“So different, yet so similar.”

“In a way,” I say with a smile. I wasn’t pampered with money, or with the love that Bella obviously showed Draco. I was scorned, and called a freak. Petunia used my name, sometimes, but it was rare. 

“Let’s go get your medicine.”

*****

Ten days of hell is finally over. At least all of the symptoms and visible signs of my outbreak are gone. It’s insane that it took less than a week for the stress-induced inflammation to start, and more than a week for it to leave. I’m satisfied with the time spent with Draco without the physical, though. Being able to learn more about him with each passing day only cements the continually growing and flowering connection that we share. This week we have had full dress rehearsals for the play. For five days, we dress in our costumes, make final adjustments to makeup and go through the entire play. To my immense satisfaction, Severus has decided to leave me alone for the time being. I assume that my performance has become good enough that he no longer feels the need to make life hell. Either that, or with Ginny coming in and out all of the time, he decided I had enough on my plate. Bill has been really supportive, which surprises me because he’s Ginny’s brother. We had a long talk about the relationship that Ginny and I had, and he now understands completely why I would rather not return to the old ways. 

On Saturday, I will move back to my flat, bidding Remus’ country home goodbye, only to find myself thrown into the madness of Parkwood Court. Only three days left until Halloween, possibly my favourite time of year. I like Christmas well enough, but I have to admit it’s because of the gifts. I had never received a gift for Christmas before I went to college. Ron and Hermione were all too eager to share with me the joys of the holiday spirit and somewhere within me, it nestled deep, making me enjoy the idea of giving and receiving for the simple pleasure of doing so. Maybe that is why when Draco pleases me sexually without demanding reciprocity, it shocks me. Ginny was never that way; in fact, she demanded pleasure even when I wasn’t in the mood. Before I find myself travelling a path of sad memories, I ignore the past and bask in the present. Draco is on his way to pick me up, he is taking me to Hufflepuff Garden and then dinner, to which I am more than happy to accompany him. 

It’s finally cooling off enough for my taste. I don a jumper and a pair of corduroy trousers, enjoying the scratchy material against my skin. I sit on the front porch steps, waiting for my boyfriend to arrive. It’s still strange to call him that, but he is essentially my boyfriend. He is my lover, even if we haven’t taken the next step, as it were. But I am quickly approaching the need to express myself physically. I want this man, wholly; I want him to be mine, as much as I want to be his. When I see the telltale dust rising from the long drive, I stand and wait as the silver Mercedes pulls up. Draco leans over and opens the door for me, and I find myself sliding against the seat with natural ease. With a brief, promising kiss, he pulls away, his wintry eyes sparkling in the slowly fading sunlight. I really like greeting him this way. I feel a smile curl at the edge of my lips and he returns it before changing gears and heading out. I have to admit, his thoughtfulness as of late is as much surprising as greatly appreciated. At least with him coming here, I don’t have to explain my car problems. 

“How were rehearsals?”

“Great, actually. We are ready to go, and I think it’s reached the level of perfection that the constraints of the script allow.”

“That’s good. So, Saturday you move back to the flat, right?”

“Yeah, and then the show opens Friday.”

“Good. Have you decided what you are wearing to the party yet?”

“Yes, but I’m not telling,” I reply, twining my fingers with his. “It’ll just have to be a surprise.”

“What if I don’t like surprises?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you will like this, trust me.”

“Anything else I will like?” His eyes dance with mirth as we verbally make love. I adore this part about our conversations. The ability to say so much, with little words is something I am not used to, yet we do it. 

“I’m sure there is plenty. But it isn’t free, you know.”

“It’s a good thing I have some money saved then, isn’t it?”

I chuckle, running my thumb along his porcelain-like skin. The more I touch him, the more I am reminded of one of those little things that needs to be addressed. If I want to be intimate with Draco, I need to know where he stands on condoms. Personally, if he doesn’t care, I don’t. I don’t want to seem like I don’t trust him, and I am clear of everything, save the newest addition to complications in my life. I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t consider Draco to be a complication, but rather freedom within all the chaos. 

“Draco,” I begin, “how do you feel about condoms?”

“That’s random, Potter. Why, are you planning on seducing me?”

“Maybe,” I reply, grinning.

“Well, in that case, if you trust me as I trust you, then I see no need for them. I am fortunately only blessed with herpes. So I think I will leave the decision up to you.”

“All right.” I think at this point, whatever happens, happens. I don’t want to think too much about the possibilities and over think things, especially not when he’s giving me that power. I trust him. 

It seems like forever, but we finally pull into the parking lot of the Garden. I’ve never been here in daylight, so the scene is completely different from what I am used to. There is a large pond with a fountain in the middle, spreading the murky water around the oval-shaped hole. The entrance is a large deck that hangs over the pond and there are two gravel paths on each side of it. I stop for a moment, admiring the scents that coalesce around me, dragging me into their spell. Vines and large white blossoms demand my attention, and I run my thumb along the edge of the petals, thinking of Draco’s skin. When I feel his hand on my lower back, I turn, feeling my body mould against his, and he places a chaste kiss on my cheek, before taking my hand and leading us along the small river that flows into the pond. 

“See anything you like?”

“Mm, of course,” I reply, squeezing his hand. We cross a bridge with ornately carved handrails and it leads to a large, unoccupied gazebo in the middle of the Garden. He leads me inside, urging me to sit beside him. We sit for what seems like hours, discussing the past week, and I am determined not to let it bring me down any further. The air is clear; all the harm is gone, for now. I dread the day Draco and I actually have a fight. As stubborn as I am, and cold as he is, it might end up terrible. When my stomach growls loudly, Draco drags me from the bench and leads us back to the car. I don’t care where we are eating, as long as we are together. I feel my heart flittering, and when we arrive at his chosen destination, I go through the motions, sating only the physical hunger with sustenance. I have a growing hunger within me that food will not abate. This is a desire to touch and be touched, mutually provide pleasure and as each thought becomes more vivid, I grow restless. Draco can sense it, or he can just read me well enough now that I don’t have to say what I want. 

The food was bland, but only because compared to his lips, nothing is sweeter. As we leave, I lean in and whisper, “Let’s go to your place.”

He answers with a toothy grin, one that only means he, too, is feeling the want for me. In the car, I massage his thigh, offering the briefest of lingering strokes against his stone-hard length beneath his trousers. When we arrive at Slytherin Tower, the doors of the lift barely close before clothing is clawed at and pulled away from blushing skin. Draco quickly takes control, shoving me against the back wall of the lift, trailing his long, talented fingers against my skin. I have missed this, more than I thought possible, I have missed his touch. When his lips and teeth scrape against my neck, I feel the shivers of pleasure pulse through me, making it harder to restrain myself from being selfish and taking what I want. When we arrive at his floor, he kicks our shed clothing into the foyer, and continues his attack, starting at my lips. Trousers, pants and shoes come off without a thought, and we stand pressed against one another, naked and wanton. It only takes a few more hazy steps before we are in the bedroom, on our sides, engulfing one another until deliberate, vibrating moans tease forth the most exquisite pleasure. I want to feel him, so experimentally I lick my fingers and prod his entrance, feeling him pulse, inviting my exploratory touches. 

When I work my finger in, he releases my cock with an audible gasp. He’s so warm, and I move slowly, feeling him tense and relax around me as I search for that spot within him. His legs begin to quiver as I press inside him and I feel even more turned on as his mouth laps languidly against my shaft. I never stop wrapping my tongue around him, though, and by the time I worry I’m hurting him, he comes with a delightful cry, filling my mouth with all the sweet and salty reward I’ll ever need. My name is either a blessing or curse from his lips, and once he is sated, he resumes his attentions on my straining erection. It doesn’t take long before I lose myself in his treatment of my body and offer my own essence in payment for his completely unabashed gift of pleasure. It takes me a bit to compose myself before we clean one another reverently and settle in for the night. The sound of his heart beating in time with mine slowly rocks me to sleep and in the morning, he takes me to get my things from Remus’ house. 

“You lot are coming to the Halloween bash, right?” I ask my fellow actors as I haul my luggage into the entrance hall. 

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Krum replies, nodding to Cedric as he speaks.

“Kingsley?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Bill?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Dateless, and probably completely hammered by the end of the night.”

“Just think of all the men you could take home, though,” Draco says with an impish smile. “I know one I am definitely taking home.”

I feel the flush rise on my cheeks and Cedric’s playful whistle only makes it worse. “Sod off,” I say and grab Draco’s arm, leading him out the door. “See you Monday, then.”

“Enjoy your weekend, fellas!” Krum calls out in a singsong voice that I find slightly irritating. 

I load my car and kiss Draco before heading home. I wanted to save the news for later for him, but I am putting the flat up for sale. Ginny and I agreed that she would retain a third of the sale price, and I am content with that. We did share the mortgage after the lease period was over. So I won’t have to tap the trust from my parents any longer and that makes me feel even better. With the promise of seeing Draco on Monday, my heart feels free, and for once, I feel like nothing is standing in my way. I have forgotten what this kind of joy feels like, but the knowledge that I will have it in abundance only makes it more addictive. 

I will pick up my costume from Severus later today, and then I can start packing some of my things at the flat. I would rather be prepared to vacate than wait until there is a buyer and have nothing done. If I hadn’t taken this job, I wonder if I would still have given Draco the key to my heart. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s there, dangling in front of him, like a baited hook. “I’m in love with you, Draco Malfoy.” I chuckle at the ridiculousness of the solitary admission. Alone in the car, it’s much easier to say than if I were facing him. 

For some reason, saying it out loud only makes the feeling more solid within me and I mentally toy with the implications of loving him. I am gay. I am in love with a man, and I feel no apprehension about it whatsoever. I’m in love with Draco Malfoy… Damn, it feels good, too. Being at the flat over the weekend will be strange, but I will get through it and begin throwing away the pieces of the past that only serve as harsh reminders of my own gullibility. Out with the old. It’s time to begin anew, and bathe myself in the comfort that I am finally in control of something and it feels good. When I place my bags in the bedroom, I change clothes and take some time to work out before showering and fixing a light dinner. It’s still early, but I find myself nestled in bed, wishing that Draco were here. And as though my thoughts had some mystical command over him, my mobile chimes and I read the message with a happy heart.

Thinking of you, pretty bird. Sweet dreams.

And with that, I fall asleep, cradled in the knowledge that he is thinking of me, as much as I am thinking of him.


	24. Giving Of Myself

Chapter 24: Giving of Myself  
Draco’s POV – Monday – Halloween - 31 October 2005

 

I can tell it’s late in the day without checking the clock. The sun is setting in the distance, and its warm, orange-red rays are blanketing my empty bedroom. It won’t be empty for long, though. I want Harry. Christ, I want him more than the air I breathe and it’s starting to hurt. Each purposeful word that comes out of his mouth only makes me want him more. He’s like a drug and I am addicted to him more than I could ever imagine. I wouldn’t say it’s unhealthy, maybe for the time being it’s just the novelty of being in love and not having the opportunity to express myself physically, yet. The hand jobs and blowjobs are great, but I want more. If it means giving of myself, then so be it. I will give my body to him any way he wants, so long as I am able to feel him. 

Last night, Dora, Cho, Vector and I all finished adding the decorations to the club. I suppose I should be grateful that closing early last night meant that there was plenty of time to set up, decorate and prepare for the Halloween bash. Ticket prices increase for this event, so we are likely to turn a profit for the evening and hopefully the club will end up with some new regulars. I have a membership idea that will probably be a good thing to start advertising this week, but it will also keep a constant flow of money, giving users the option to upgrade as needed, but I can worry about those details tomorrow. Tonight, I have an entirely different set of worries. I take a shower, ignoring my erection in favour of staying focussed on the evening. I have as many bases covered as foresight allows, now it’s time to have fun. 

Normally, I would not favour drag on an evening such as this, but this dress called to me from Severus’ large selection of clothing in Hell. A long, black slip with the front cut in a V that ends at the bottom of my sternum, with elegant pearl-white beads and sequins tracing the edges. The front is hitched together with the most fragile threads of small, black plastic. The only strap is one that wraps around my neck and there is a long slit in the right side, enough for me to tease Harry with, which I have no reservations about doing. I have a pair of black stilettos that will work perfect, only adding to my height. To be honest, knowing that I will garner Harry’s attention is what has me wearing this dress. Tonight, I don’t care about the scar on my back, and I will wear it proudly, not shamefully, as Lucius would have me do. Harry hasn’t minded the thick band that was supposed to be a reminder of my sin; no, he appreciates it, passing his sensuous lips over the gnarled skin, making me feel loved and wanted. 

It’s nearly six o’clock already, and I make a cup of coffee before dressing. As I hold the warm porcelain in my hands, I turn on the television, ready to change channels, but my father’s stone-cold visage stares at me with false concern. It’s written in his features; each creased line on his forehead and the caustic arch to his brow tells me all I need to know, even before he speaks. He is wearing a smart black suit, and a silver shirt with a black tie to match. His hair, always impeccable, is styled just right, giving the impression that the man is a statue, not a person. The reporters are outside the manor, and I feel a pang of grief seeing that place again. Rita Skeeter, one reporter that shows up everywhere, is on screen with a sombre black suit and bright red lipstick. It is when I hear her irritatingly sweet voice that I return my attention to the screen.

“We are standing outside the home of Senator Lucius Malfoy as he makes his way to the memorial service at Riddle House. This Halloween marks the twentieth anniversary of Governor Tom Riddle’s death. October thirty-first, 1985, the Presidential hopeful was killed in a head on collision with a drunk driver, leaving his second in command, Lucius Malfoy, in charge. Tom Marvolo ‘Voldemort’ Riddle, the only son of Tom Riddle, had this to say, ‘My father was a good man and is still missed to this day. I feel privileged to have to known him and hope that his ideals can live on in the hearts of the people. Thank you.’

“The procession to the memorial service will lead from the Malfoy estates to Riddle House on the edge of Raleigh. Lucius Malfoy, Riddle’s Lieutenant Governor at the time, was able to take action quickly, filling his former mentor’s shoes with no problems. After his succession as Governor, Lucius Malfoy went on to serve two full terms in the Governor’s office, and now sits as senator, along with Blaise Zabini, a young political hopeful. The two men are making waves with their radical ideas and conservative leanings, but that isn’t stopping them. Rumour has it that the senator will be campaigning for president before long. 

“We spoke with Mr Malfoy earlier today and this is what he had to say about Tom M. Riddle; ‘Tom Riddle was the kind of man that wanted to see changes and no one told him no. He made quick, well thought out decisions, which lead to great things, and I, for one, was sad to see him go. After twenty years, I still remember all of the things I learned under him, and will continue to use those things. My sincerest apologies go to his widow and son, and I hope that if I end up in the oval office, I can do his name proud.’

The scenery fades and the news anchor, Cornelius Fudge, stares at the camera with a sad face, recounting his own memories of the man. Seeing the photo of him, I remember him. I was young, but I remember him. He was debonair, much like his son, with very dark hair and a towering presence. My only real memory is of him rumpling my hair as I ran by him and my father in the drawing room at the Manor as they sipped from large, rounded glasses, which I now know are snifters. I finish the last of my coffee and clean out the mug before heading to get dressed. On my way, the television blares all of the usual messages of safety, and the importance of parents keeping a close eye on their children this Halloween. Rumours of razor blades being stuffed inside candy, and apples being poisoned, always spurs parents into action. I pin my hair back, letting it fall around my face in a more modern style, and admire my reflection for a moment. My cheeks are higher than my father’s are and my nose is less pointed, reminding me that I still look like my mother. 

Tracing my eyes with black liner, I stare into their blossoming depths. I remember a time when they were hollow, there was nothing inside me but anger and misery, and now I see warmth, melting the icy surface. I wonder if they always looked so glassy, or if this is a new development. Sometimes I wonder if Harry notices the changes, because I see them glaring back at me clearly. Aside from the weight in my eyes from sleep, I feel good. I dust my cheeks with rose blush, and my eyelids with black and silver accents. To finish the look, I dig out a pair of long, silvery earrings and work the weighted things into nearly closed holes. I wonder briefly if this is a mask. Am I hiding behind this persona this evening because I think Harry will respond to it more than me? To say that I am still slightly insecure is an understatement. Harry spent so much of his life with a woman; I don’t know why he wants me. Could it be that, subconsciously, I want to play to his former attractions, and not his "current"? It doesn’t matter either way tonight; tonight is about wearing masks and becoming someone else. I suppose one of the perks of Halloween is the ability to dress in whatever you want without too many questioning stares… Halloween - considered a joke by many, or evil by others - is a day that I find comfort in. 

The Irish believe that Halloween is the one night of the year in which spirits can make contact with the living, and that magic is at its most potent. All the world over, people celebrate the holiday – or condemn it – based on their personal beliefs. The various traditions surrounding the day aren’t universal, but to me, the Irish one feels the most powerful. In other parts of the world, people celebrate the lives of those they have lost as the veil between the living and the dead parts, allowing prayers, offerings, and love to pass into the great beyond. I like all of the ideas. The idea that magic lives and becomes most potent on this evening is definitely a strong reason to appreciate the celebration. I like to think that magical things can happen and feel no shame for admitting it. 

I find that I am admitting more and more as of late, and it isn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it might be. Somewhere in the jumble of living with my father and running from everything, I think I began to run away from who I am. There are pieces of me still missing, but bit by bit, I feel parts of me opening that have been long since dead. I don’t want to seem like a lovesick puppy, but Harry has brought about a lot of these changes. I see things I didn’t see before, maybe I just see things that I chose not to see before. There are others who suffer and I’ve been selfish. Now I feel even worse for neglecting Pansy and the others; they deserved my attention even if I was having a hard time of it. For two weeks, I haven’t been to any meetings, opting to wallow in self-pity over my perceived loss of Harry, when he was here all along. Today I didn’t go because there was a lot that needed to be taken care of last night, and without the extra time spent, we wouldn’t have been ready for this evening.

I only take a few more moments to stare at my reflection before retreating into the bedroom to dress. Thoughts do me no good right now, and I feel that it’s important to learn from the past, rather than dwell on it. I slip on the dress, feeling the material bunch against my skin, cooling it, but also setting it ablaze with desire. I want Harry to hug me like this flimsy material, running scorching touches along my skin... I want. The natural progression is to fuck, or make love, and there is the part of me that fears we will never make it to that point. Will Harry take one look at me and re-think his desires tonight? Will my gender finally become an issue as he stares at me, with freedom and a lighter heart? Christ, I’m letting my own doubt rule me and it isn’t healthy. I quickly finish dressing and head out. 

As I see young children and their parents taking them around, a long forgotten memory of two young men in long, black robes trick-or-treating resurfaces. 

“Blaise, wait for me!” I whine at being left behind. The air is cold and my breath issues in soft, vaporous waves into the starry night. Dead leaves crunch under my feet, dragging in the wake of the silly black robes. I didn’t want to be death! But Blaise insisted that we dress alike, and now he’s running ahead, nearly at the door to the next house. I wish I hadn’t come now. 

“Come on, Draco, can’t you keep up?” The irritation in Blaise’s voice is not lost on me, and my robes catch under my feet as I struggle to keep up with the taller boy. 

“Quit being mean!” I pout. 

“I’m going to get all the candy tonight, Draco. You watch!” And he did. He eagerly stole my candy, filching it whenever I left the room or had my back turned.

That was how my relationship with Blaise started and how it ended. He took what he wanted, never caring how I felt about things. That was a time when everything seemed innocent. Blaise Zabini. I honestly haven’t thought of the cold man in years. I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen years old and saw him fucking one of the hired hands around our estates. And his demeanour is just as cold as his dark eyes. What a sad memory of my first. A quick fuck in a dark closet so no one would hear us… I wish I had never touched him. Knowing that he emulates my father only makes my distaste for him grow further. I always wondered if there was something more behind those proud eyes as they stared at my father, but honestly, I don’t care to know. 

My sights linger on the jack-o-lanterns with eerie carved faces and for a brief moment, I wonder if Harry will feel the pangs of loss for the child he and Ginny may have raised if… He would talk to me about it, though. I know he would. Somehow my wavering confidence this evening is making me a nervous wreck. I wish Harry would have come with me instead of insisting that we meet at the club. At least if he’d come with me, I wouldn’t be this nervous; or maybe I would be, but for another reason entirely. I am beginning to grow tired of my feelings, each desire, because I suppress them when he’s around. I don’t want to forsake his comfort for my pleasures, even if it’s driving me mad. 

Arriving at the club comes quickly enough, and I am grateful. Inside, I can hear Tonks issuing orders to the staff and their feet retreating quickly. I’m almost not sure it’s her when I step inside and see half red, half black hair styled wildly on end, with a black blouse and a red poodle skirt – with a black poodle – stitched on the front. It flourishes around her with each movement and for a moment, I’m surprised. I’ve only ever seen her in comfortable trousers, and now, it’s as though I’m seeing this slightly dainty woman for the first time. Maybe this is her – the real Tonks. She looks happy and in her element. I’m sure she’s hell on her partner; I can imagine her being quite the taskmaster in the bedroom – even if the thoughts are totally out of line for an employer – and it makes me chuckle. She turns and offers a goofy grin, and I shake my head, ashamed and fearful that she’s just heard every thought in my head, even though I know it’s impossible.

“Well, look at you! You look like a real lady in that dress,” Tonks says, still grinning. Her voice is playful, much like her personality, and I can appreciate having someone like that around the club. Everyone else is so serious. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You trying to pick someone up this evening?” 

“Oh, I’m not trying, he’s going home with me,” I say, waggling my eyebrows in response. 

“Who’s going home with you?” a familiar voice asks. I turn and to my surprise, Remus and Severus are standing behind me. I stifle the nagging urge to laugh at their costumes. Matching leather vests, one black (for Severus) and one soft brown (for Remus), hug their chests tight. Pinned to the breast of each one is a silver sheriff’s star, and as I continue to take in their appearance, I realise they are only wearing western chaps, with fringe hanging lazily down the legs and cowboy boots. There are no trousers beneath the garments; instead, they each have matching underwear. Please, don’t let it be a thong!

“Phoenix,” I say with a grin. 

“Dragon,” Severus says with a warning.

“What?”

“He—”

Remus cuts Severus off, though, as he’s about to chide me. “Let’s just have some fun tonight, shall we? I haven’t been here in ages; show me what you’ve done with the place.”

“Sure. First, Nymphadora Tonks, this is Severus Snape and his husband Remus. Dora is my new manager.”

They greet each other cordially, and her wonderfully social personality comes through. “So, who are you two supposed to be?”

“West. James West,” Severus says and she giggles wildly.

“From the Wild, Wild West?”

“Of course.”

“And Remus must be—”

“Artemus Gordon, at your service.”

“You two look great!”

“All right, come on you two.”

“It’s nice to see you, Ms Tonks. Come join us later for drinks,” Remus says.

“I’ll be there!”

I offer a smile of gratitude before waving my arm before me, leading them back to the main floor. As soon as I am behind them, I regret it. They are both wearing thongs! I’m not naïve by any stretch of the imagination, but I could have gone without looking at Severus’ pasty ass in a black thong. He’s like a father to me. I am of the mind - I know they have sex - but I don’t want to know about it. And seeing the thong, and the glint of silver spurs attached to their boots, gets my mind wandering in too many directions. I notice that Remus is limping more than usual, but assume it’s the boots… or maybe he’s tired.

As we move to the main floor, I see people already dancing, and wonder how long it took me to get ready for the evening. The stage is arranged with various items from the dungeon for the shows later. Mistress Daphne and Master Crouch plan to coerce members of the crowd as volunteers – or victims – for a performance, so this should be interesting. In the past, people have gone to the dungeon for all of their voyeuristic and exhibitionist needs, but to bring it out for everyone to see is new. I like the idea of including everyone, and I know that Master Crouch and Mistress Daphne will take care not to do anything too off the wall. The cages are on two raised platforms on each side of the dance floor, and are open to use by anyone this evening. Colourful swirls, surrounded by black and white chequered tiles, decorate the walls, while black lights shine over the floor. The corners are filled with cobwebs, and the bar has all manner of creepy creatures spread along its surface. 

“How about a drink?” I ask, turning to the two men who took me under their wing.

“On the house?” Remus asks.

“How about on the play’s tab?”

Severus snorts, but allows a smile to curl his thin lips. 

“Tequila and lots of it. If I’m going to be seen in this costume, then I don’t want to remember it.”

“Just get a beer, anything really,” Remus says with a smile.

Vector is busy, so I step behind the bar and fix our drinks. As I work, Remus leans over the bar, getting my attention.

“You and Harry are spending a lot of time together. How are things?”

I can’t help smiling back at Remus. “Really good.”

“Are you two together?”

“What do you mean? Are we dating or are we fucking?”

“Dragon, don’t take that tone with me. I just want to know if you are a couple.”

“Yeah,” I say and he smiles. “Remus, I think I’m in love.”

“That’s good to hear. Now get over here with these drinks before Severus scares away all your business.” The look on Remus’ face is not hard, or cold, but full of the warmth I have come to expect from him. I push away the thoughts of that day at the theatre before I let my curiosity get the best of me. I still want to know what happened, but now is not the time or place to speak of it. 

I turn to look at Severus and see him glaring at everyone that passes by. His back is against the bar, stiff and imposing. Why he feels the need to be so uptight is beyond me. I quickly hand the drinks to Remus and watch as he plants a kiss on Severus’ tightly pulled lips before offering up a shot of golden tequila. He quickly knocks the drink back and places the glass on the bar, and once again, Remus leans in for a kiss that starts out sweet, but Severus relaxes into it and quickly takes over. I feel a surge of jealousy, wondering where Harry is. He should be here by now. 

I enjoy a few drinks, waiting idly for Harry to arrive. I will not call and ask where he is. He said he’d be here and I trust him. 

“Aren’t you two going to dance?”

“No, we thought we’d hold the bar up all night,” Severus retorts, his face twisting into a playful grin. Seeing Severus like this is slightly unnerving, but I deal with it, it’s the only thing I can do.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Remus asks.

“Because I’m waiting for Harry. Where the hell is he?”

And as if saying his name magically made him appear, I feel a pair of arms snake around me, black leather hiding his strong limbs from view. “I’m here,” he purrs into my ear. I feel his lips on my neck, tasting me softly before pulling away.

Severus begins to chuckle, another very out of character thing for him to do. Severus doesn’t chuckle, he sneers… there is never mirth in his tone. “Finally got that piece of shit to run, did you? You should just drop it off at a junkyard, Harry.”

“Piss off,” Harry snaps, and I turn to see red cheeks and fiery eyes. “We aren’t at rehearsals; I don’t have to take this shit.”

He looks angry, and embarrassed at the same time. Why? I don’t want to get between him and Severus, but I don’t think it’s fair for my godfather to treat him that way either. How can I ignore it? I’m confused on what the right course of action is; maybe if I just ease Harry away from him things will go smoothly. 

“Oh, grow up already. When are you going to learn how to take a joke?”

“When you learn how to make one.”

Severus’ face is priceless as he bites back the retort on the tip of his tongue. I can tell that Harry is challenging him, but why, I don’t know. I wonder what the deal with Harry’s car is; he hasn’t said anything about it having any problems. Now I have unanswered questions nagging at me, but they can wait. As Harry takes his time and enjoys a few drinks, I finally take in his appearance. Damn, he looks good. My own personal James Dean. He shrugs out of the leather coat and hands it to Vector, who puts it behind the bar, and the skin-tight white t-shirt does nothing to quiet the thoughts already active in my imagination. The material clings to him like a second skin, and I want to peel it away, reveal every layer and ravish his body with kisses. My sights follow the curve of his ass; the faded blue jeans making him look like a “bad boy”, ready to claim his prize. The jeans cover a pair of black boots, but I can’t see the rest of them, and finally, I realise Harry is looking at me looking at him. 

His eyes look like the storm has passed, and he offers an appreciative smile. He turns and places his half-empty drink on the bar, and takes my hand, leading me to the dance floor. We don’t speak, but I don’t feel like we have to. We aren’t on the floor long before the music fades and we are left moving with one another to the music of our hearts. It isn’t until the lights dim and the curtains open, a large, very strange looking Hagrid walks on stage. I think he’s Marilyn Monroe, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell when I don’t really want to look at him. Harry snakes an arm around my waist, and for once, I wish I was the same height as him. I feel very strange in stilettos with Harry holding onto me, but I am the one in the dress. My role was defined by my choice in costumes. Damn you, Sandra Dee! Though part of me thinks that maybe it’s natural for Harry to take me this way; after all, isn’t it a sign of “possession” among men and women? I hate stigmas. We have these definitions of people and how they should act, and the faces they should present to the world, and I think it’s ridiculous. Why can’t people just be? Do we have to define them? 

I don’t listen to Hagrid’s speech tonight. My thoughts are too centred on humanity and its desire to box everyone away. It serves as a reminder that everything about my life defies the norm that people are comfortable with. I am in love with a man, and I, too, am a man. I watch with detached interest as the first of the stage shows begins. A loud drumbeat sounds, making the entire room vibrate. It immediately rips me from my musings, and I look at Harry, his eyes sparking in the low light of the dance floor. I wonder what he’s thinking, but before I can speak, he pulls me into a soft kiss. His tongue slides against my bottom lip, and I eagerly consume it, tasting the alcohol and the remnants of the spices of whatever he ate for dinner. I should be repulsed, but I’m not. I’m intrigued beyond measure. I pull away just as his hands grip my hips, and his mouth leaves sensual kisses along my chest. He always leaves trails of fire against my skin, making it burn and pine for their touch as soon as they are gone. I don’t know why I pulled away. Maybe it’s the knowledge that traversing this road will lead to other things. 

His hand cups my cheek, and the pad of his thumb trails along the ridge, drawing my face to his once again. Instead of his lips pressing against mine, though, he takes my neck, nibbling it with his teeth, pampering the tingling flesh with his tongue. 

“Draco,” he whispers softly, tickling my senses, “I want you.” His voice is throaty and deep, full of need. I can hear it, even with the music pounding in my ears; I can hear all of the desire behind his words. I try to speak, but my jaw opens and closes, no words falling from my lips. 

“I want to fuck you… against the wall, in the bed, anywhere. Just let me have you.” His hands tremble against me, and I pretend not to notice. Gods! Is it possible he’s as nervous as I am? He’s so much better at hiding it, because I’m afraid to touch him, my hands are shaking so badly. Those words, those simple words have my mind racing and my heart thudding painfully hard in my chest. 

“Yes. Anything, I’m yours,” I moan softly, burying my face in his neck, returning the favour. His muscles tense in my teeth, I feel the flesh ripping as I bite and tease him. He thrusts his hips into me, and I can’t take it. I’ve been waiting for this, and now my nerves are on fire, flickering madly with need. “Gods, please, Harry, take me home.”

I’m finding it hard to walk with weak knees and a straining erection between my legs. One of these days, I will just stop wearing drag all together. I need to get out of these clothes! Each movement is stilted as we moved toward the bar and Harry gets his coat, pulling me with him. He starts to lead me out front, but I stop him. 

“I’ll drive,” I say. He nods, and I am glad I had a few drinks. I hope Harry can’t feel how badly I am shaking. It’s not from fear, although I feel like this is my first time. Sweat beads in my palms and I feel like I’m fifteen again. I try to steady my steps, but to no avail. Everything seems like it’s in slow motion as I sit and finally insert the key into the ignition. I place both hands on the wheel, concentrating desperately on not making a fool of myself. Before I back out, I look at Harry, only to meet those brilliant eyes and a smile that makes my stomach flip. 

I keep my hands as steady as I can as we head to my place. As long as I keep my eyes on the road and not on Harry, and the way he’s turned toward me in the seat, I’m all right. Focus on the passing of the yellow and white lines… just keep focussed. 

My stomach won’t stop flipping and it’s driving me insane. 

Before I know it, we are standing in the elevator, side by side, not looking at one another, no words spoken. It’s like we don’t even know each other, and I grow more anxious as the floors tick by at an agonisingly slow pace. One more floor.

The bell rings and the pretence of control is gone. I feel my hand nestled in his, and with confident strides, we end up in the bedroom, his mouth hungry against mine, and everything begins to spin. Soft moans and feverish fingers dance along my exposed shoulders and neck as he presses his body against mine. He’s so hard! I can feel him, hot and eager, and it only makes me want this even more. I can give up comfort, I know he needs that, the control over this, and I don’t care if it means I’m making this sacrifice, not when I love him. 

Slow, deliberate kisses land on my skin, sending waves of pleasure through me as his mouth manipulates my body. The tremor of his voice violates my conscious mind, and I moan as his words dictate each reaction. His hands reach behind my neck and I feel the clasp of the dress unhook, and the soft, black material slides down my body. His fingers and hands follow the same path until the next obstacle is removed, piece by piece, until I am naked and exposed before him. 

His eyes drink me in, and as I get lost in their depths, working my way into his being, his lips are against mine again. His tongue and mouth is so hot and wet, and I feel his clothes scratching against my skin. Tentatively, I work my hands under the plain t-shirt and drag it up his body until the offensive garment is no longer in the way. I barely reach for his belt when he drops to his knees, lifting the cuffs of his jeans. As I hear a thick zipper drop, his mouth begins to lap at my cock, and the weakness of my knees returns forcefully. I wobble, placing a hand on his shoulder for support, and he chuckles softly as the other boot comes off. They thud loudly against the floor and I begin shedding his clothes again. First, the belt, then I work his trousers off. 

We both stand silently, breathing heavily for a few moments, and like a light switch was flipped, he pushes me toward the bed, and I’m grateful because I don’t know how much longer my knees would hold me. I haven’t given my body away in years and for the first time in my life, I feel no apprehension about it whatsoever. I want him, I want him to take me, and I swear I can already feel him thrusting into me. My imagination is working overtime, pressing all of the fantasies I’ve had over the past month into the front of my mind. All I feel is pleasure. 

I can’t pay attention to what he’s doing; my mind and body only register the pleasure coursing through me at his touches. He takes me right to edge, then slows down before I whimper and call his name, begging him to continue. I’m in hell, but it’s the most blissful hell I’ve ever known under his careful ministrations. The slow, tantalising glide of fingers in and out of me makes me press into them, and then his mouth is on me again. It’s so pure and Christ, does it feel good. I can feel the lubrication easing his entry, but with a long stroke and eager tongue, he calls my orgasm forth in a rush of brilliant torture. I feel his mouth move and my legs tremble, and even saying his name is impossible at this point. But I don’t have to speak, not when his lips and tongue answer all of my pleas for more without speaking. 

When his mouth pulls away, I want more, but he settles between my legs and I lift my hips. I feel him against me, and just wish he’d push in, just fuck me until I can’t utter a word, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Draco,” he says so softly, I’m not sure I hear him properly. He positions himself at my entrance and I relax completely, wanting to give this to him, wanting so much for him to want me in return. I feel each careful movement, his ragged breathing and my thudding heart, needing to feel this. And then I do. I feel the burn of penetration, the care in his movements, and the sharp realisation that I am completely at his mercy. The moment I feel his head enter me, I hear him gasp with surprise. I open my eyes, not realising I’d closed them, and see the absolute control in his tensed muscles. 

“I’m ready,” I say, encouraging him to move forward. It doesn’t matter that the initial burn is uncomfortable, not as he slowly moves inside me and I feel the closeness I have been craving. He waits, giving me time to adjust, and I could care less about that. He could ram inside me and I would love it simply because it’s Harry doing it. He’s supporting himself over me, spreading his legs wider and wider to accommodate. All I can do is hold him, gripping his skin tight as he pushes further in, demanding my pleasure. His eyes are closed and I watch, with all of the wonder I could ever possess. He’s so beautiful, his neck craned slightly to the side as his arms strain against his weight, his hips rocking back and forth, forcing me to feel good. It’s so cliché, but with each determined movement, I want to tell him how much I love him, to tell him that I never want to fuck anyone else again. It’s all feeling; there are no coherent thoughts, just as his words jumble together.

“Tight… Gods! Feels so good,” he moans. I slowly stroke myself with each long thrust. His dives are painfully slow, and I want to curse him, but I can’t bring myself to rush him, it feels too good. The power of his emotion seems to pour into me and I drink from the abundance, basking in the joy of being connected with him at last. The last barrier is gone, and I hook my legs around him, ashamed of the way my toes are curling into the blankets. I don’t know how he can still talk. I’m barely coherent as each piercing movement forward makes my balls tighten, and my heart skips a beat. The tone of his voice is what turns me on, not the words, no matter how depraved and wanton they are. It’s fucking glorious as he leans forward and takes my lips, desperately sucking my tongue as he quakes above me. A roll of his hips and I’m gone. It’s over before I can contain the feral grunts of pleasure that course through me, and I feel like my body is yanking him in further. I swear I can feel each ridge of his cock as it glides in and out of me, and I tighten around him. And then all control is gone, and the warmth of semen flows against my skin, and his name becomes the only incantation my mind is capable of forming. 

The pleasure doesn’t end, not immediately, because as he jerks into me, panting my name softly, I feel so good. Watching him come makes me wish I could do it all over again, just to give him a physical reminder of how good it feels to be the one giving this gift to him. He takes my lips again, and I feel him slide out, a trail of heat in his wake. My mind is swimming, making me burn with excitement and clarity as he pulls away. His red cheeks are so adorable as he lies flat on top of me. I run my feet up his legs and my fingers down his back, feeling his skin pimple at each touch. Hot breath hits my neck in soft puffs and he threads his fingers in my hair, pulling the irritating pins out and throwing them haphazardly around the room. I chuckle, feeling so free I want to cry. It’s pitiful the way this one moment makes the whole world seem insignificant. It’s so beautiful. 

“That was brilliant,” he whispers into my neck, kissing it softly. “How do you feel? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, it was good.” And it was. It was incredible, but I don’t want to sound so dramatic about it. 

“You sure?”

“Positive, Harry.” I smile at the questioning look in his eyes, admiring its simple beauty. I don’t want this to ever end. I wish this night could last forever.

He smiles and stands, helping me to my feet. He doesn’t laugh at my awkward walk and I feel indebted, for some reason. It’s so strange, but this is the perfection I have been craving. This is the moment where nothing else matters but the two of us, and the world we create for one another, giving and taking as equally as possible. This is where I want to tell him how I feel, but I can’t; my words would seem deliberate and I don’t want that. 

After a shower, we wrap our moist limbs around one another and I kiss his forehead softly. He, too, is smiling, but with his eyes closed, he misses the joy on my face. 

“Goodnight, pretty bird,” I whisper when his breathing has evened out. I watch him sleep for a little bit longer before closing my own eyes and welcoming the darkness. We can save conversation for tomorrow; all of the bubbling questions can wait until the newness of our first time has worn off.


	25. Opening Night

Chapter 25: Opening Night  
Harry’s POV

 

It’s been nearly a week since Draco and I took things to the next level. Since then, we have had many discussions about sex, our likes and dislikes, and finding out things about ourselves that we didn’t know. He likes to tease me, making me wait until I’m begging to come, and he likes it when I fuck him slowly, and passionately. Now the tables are turned; at his place, we both lay on the bed, carefully removing one another’s clothes, and whispering softly as the mood takes us further than ever before. Draco doesn’t like losing control, but I have found the more comfortable I am with him, I don’t mind allowing him to take control and lead me. Last night he fucked me senseless, drawing out the pleasure until I couldn’t take it anymore. His legs straddled me as he rose and fell confidently, controlling the pace until my hands could no longer hold his hips. It’s been fantastic, and now, it’s my turn to figure out what I like. Two days ago, he asked if he could fuck me and I agreed, ready to give to him what he gave to me: trust. 

Pleasure is a powerful thing. It is the kind of feeling that makes you want to do things that you normally wouldn’t, with the promise and delivery of mind-blowing sensations. The promise of that pleasure is not intoxicating; no, it is the act of receiving and, in turn, giving to someone else that makes it intoxicating. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” Those are the words that led me to the bed, lying on my back, naked and completely exposed. It’s not that I mind being naked, or exposed, but the idea of sex scares me, even with the promise of pleasure. Rather, the idea of letting someone fuck me scares me. I trust Draco, I honestly do, but I’m afraid of being hurt. I’m also afraid that I won’t like it. We had this conversation over the past few days, how he prefers to be the giver and not the taker in sex. I don’t mind giving of myself, but it doesn’t make me any less scared, even if his hands are doing wicked things to my body, manipulating it into submission as all thought seems to disappear, only to be replaced by the sudden, fantastic jolt of pleasure that makes me cry out, and his lips curl into the most predatory smile I have ever seen. At least he had alcohol his first time; me, I have nothing but the promise of little pain and a lot of… pleasure. 

I’m not disputing the fact that his movements feel good, quite the contrary actually; it’s amazing. He’s very attentive to the way my body reacts to each touch, drawing each sensation out as long as I can stand it before moving on to something even more powerful than before. He’s moving slow, but it’s driving me mad. None of the reading in the world prepared me for the distinct and nearly overwhelming sensation of his tongue probing at my entrance, pushing in and out. He replaces the slick muscle with an even wetter finger, and it feels so good. 

“You taste so good, Harry,” he purrs as he inhales deeply, and blows softly against my sac. I arch into his fingers, and he chuckles, the kind of melody that makes my heart thud even harder against my chest. “Eager are we?” His voice is soft and husky, teasing my senses. 

“Yes!” I bellow, feeling each movement he makes. I startle myself at the sounds pouring from me, nearly begging him to take me. I want it; I want it more than I have ever wanted anything else and he is going to give it to me. If I had to analyse this, I would say my soul is singing in response to his touches. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I just want more. And then he shifts and everything becomes cloudy, a haze of prickling skin and the most delicious tremors racing through my body. 

“Why are you shaking? Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be. I’d never hurt you.”

“I— I know.”

“You don’t sound so certain,” he says and plunges inside me again, slowly finger fucking me until I moan. “Feel good?”

“Yes! Gods!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, please don’t stop.” My own panting, needy cries make me feel so embarrassed it’s unreal. 

“What do you want from me, Harry?” he asks as one hand slides down the length of my shaft and the other continues its exploration inside me.

“Fuck! I don’t know, just don’t stop. Fuck!”

“You are demanding. I might have to punish you,” he says silkily, withdrawing his finger. 

“No! Draco, don’t stop.”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

“Blindfold me,” I whisper. I can’t believe I just said that! I liked it last time, a lot, and maybe it will ease my nerves a little. He chuckles softly and leans in, barely whispering in my ear.

“While I get the blindfold, I want you to move to the edge of the bed on your back, stroking your cock for me. Do you understand?” His voice is throaty and demanding, sending shivers down my body, making me want to forget the blindfold and simply let him fuck me, but I like the idea of playing this game even more. This is so new, and my mind and heart race as fantasies of what Draco will do to me dance through my head. There is something incredibly sexy about the way that Draco demands my attention and submission, but he must know I am not truly at his mercy. I couldn’t ever be at just anyone’s mercy – he gets this because I want him to – I am not that kind of man.

“Yes, Draco,” I reply, barely hearing the words as they come out of my mouth. His warmth fades as he disappears from the bed, and I move carefully to the edge of the bed as directed. I don’t understand how I couldn’t submit to Bill, but here, in this bedroom, I don’t mind doing whatever Draco tells me. I don’t understand it, but I will go with it. I feel safe and content, and that’s all I could ever ask for. Nestled comfortably with my feet dangling over the edge of the mattress, I wait for Draco’s return. I close my eyes, trailing the tips of my fingers over my chest, letting the texture of hair and skin ignite the nerves in my fingertips. My skin ripples with goose bumps and I feel the heat of embarrassment ravish my cheeks as I continue lower, until I feel the wetness of my cock. With slow, determined strokes, I let the feelings spread through me, anticipating Draco’s return. 

“You look incredible,” Draco says breathlessly, his voice close by. I don’t open my eyes to look for him; instead, I wait patiently, allowing low moans to escape my lips as I feel his hands barely touch my face. He trails a finger along my bottom lip and drags it down, letting it fly back with a soft pop as they collide together. I suck the same lip in my mouth, tasting him briefly, before it fades and his fingers return. This time, I feel the material slide over my eyes and allow its soft touch to comfort me. Now I feel completely at ease. I can’t describe it, but it’s there, just as it was when he was trying to make me understand I don’t have to be in control. There is a coil of warmth as his hands leave trails of promises along my skin, until I feel his slick finger penetrate me once again. His tongue and lips travel from the inside of my thigh up the base of my cock, wetting my fingers and then lapping at the head. 

“So sweet,” he moans and pushes my hand away, allowing his mouth to continue. Hot, wet lips and tongue drive me mad, each stroke and swipe leaving my knees weaker with want and desire. I have never wanted anyone as much as I want him right now and it’s driving me insane. The steady pressure of his tongue against my cock draws the fire from my belly, allowing me to become engulfed in the searing flames that lick at my insides. I’m so close; I can feel the beginning of my end and take his long hair in my hands, pressing him further, begging his kindness. As suddenly as I felt the rush of ignition, it fades and his sultry voice commands my attention.

“Not yet,” he says, forcing my arms above my head, pressing his chest and pelvis against me. Aching for his touch, I arch against him, rutting wildly, trying to prolong the sensations. He lifts his body away from mine slightly, and then dips beside me. He rises up until he’s supporting himself above me, just out of reach. I want to touch him, I want to feel him closer, but he continues to pull away, teasing me with his proximity. I moan softly, letting the vibrations course through me as I feel his soft breath against my skin. 

“Draco,” I beg, wanting that sweet release that only he can give me. I lift my body to meet his, aching all over.

“Stay still, or else you won’t get anything,” he purrs before I feel him dip against me, and a soft moan exits my lips as his tongue plunders my mouth. When he pulls away, I want more, but his stern reminder of not getting anything keeps me from reaching for him. “Are you ready?”

“Gods, yes, Draco! Do it!” All fear of pain is replaced with the incessant need to be completed and full. I want him inside me, I want to feel the slick heat of him driving in and out of me. “Please, Draco.”

Without hesitation, he guides my legs over his shoulders and I feel his wet, hot cock moving inside me. Slowly he works and I just want him inside me, willing with my being that he just do it and not make me wait any longer. And as I feel the anticipation rising again, he speaks softly, “Touch yourself, Harry. I want to watch you.”

I happily oblige his visual senses as I have denied myself that pleasure. When I get a steady rhythm, he pushes in further, chasing away my apprehension, only replacing it with some primitive need. With him firmly lodged within me, I feel everything, every muscle movement over me as his hips bend and dip, offering me the most incredible sensations I’ve ever felt. Christ, this is becoming addictive, and it’s my first time. It’s like the first day of school, the nerves, the excitement of all things to come and experience, a first kiss, the first private wank, all of the firsts in the world can’t compare to this moment when thought ceases and feeling, reaction and action, takes over. I am at his mercy completely, feeling my own throat close and knot with the temptation to scream, to cry, to shout every filthy litany my mind can conjure as I feel him pulsing inside me with each steady stoke. If sex could ever be deemed sacred, then I deem this moment one I never want to forget, one that I gladly etch into my memory for all time, praising his efforts for all eternity. It isn’t until I feel him shift and slow that I want more. I want everything he has to offer as the slick thickness of his cock buries itself within me. 

“Harder,” I beg, relishing the momentum as it obscures reality and gives me something that I can honestly say I have never felt before. The absolute pleasure courses through me, making me bite my lip and wish that I could greedily partake of this connection always. Blinding passion, the kind that makes my toes curl, gripping helplessly at the intangible air that surrounds us. Without sight, I smell and hear everything, his soft grunts that become moans and expletives that bring heat to my cheeks. I don’t even notice that I have stopped stroking my cock until he tells me he wants to see me come and I resume the motions, wanting him to do it harder, and faster.

“Please, Draco, harder,” I beg, and he obliges, and everything goes blank. My whole body is tingling.

“Take off the blindfold,” he says through heavy breaths. “Watch me fuck you.”

I slip the material off my eyes, and open them, completely enraptured by the look on his face. His bottom lip is between his teeth and I wish I could suck it into my mouth as he throws his head back and lets out a long moan. It isn’t until I feel my body react to it, and I clench him tight, that I realise I can have more control over this than I thought previously. I flex, willing him deeper, and his head drops, silvery-blond strands of hair tickling my stomach as he fucks me harder. The world stills, and before I know it, the fire rips through me, leaving me moaning and jerking with spastic glee, only to hear Draco join me, appreciating every jerking movement as it aids his heightened state. After more heartbeats than I feel like counting, he slows, gently rocking his hips as I feel the pool of his seed resting within me. He’s beautiful when he comes, his face almost desperate as he shudders from a combination of exhaustion and the high that an orgasm brings. 

This is pleasure. 

I feel his sweat drip against my skin, meshing with my come, and as he pulls away, I feel momentarily empty. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he says abruptly, but as I begin to stand, I understand why he said it. It’s not that I mind come on me, but that feeling of fullness does nothing for me. It’s a momentary feeling of accomplishment, a trophy of sorts of a “job well done”, and quickly fades in the post-coital haze. I follow behind him distinctly slower and allow him to begin the shower as I take care of a few necessary things before joining him. 

Inside the spacious cubicle, he moves aside, allowing me the opportunity to at least wash off before resuming his own scrubbing. A spark of inspiration hits and I stop his hands, not needing to speak, only offering my reverence to his body and devotion to his affections. With lazy swipes, I clean his skin, allowing the scent of the gel to cement itself in my memory as our eyes lock, and he allows me the honour of ridding his body of the accumulated grime of our mutual affections. In turn, he washes me as well, no words, only actions, sedate, and possibly content. He washes my hair, massaging my scalp, and I do the same in return, feeling his long hair bunch in my hands. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never shared a shower, nor washed another’s body or hair, and it only adds to the long list of firsts I’ve experienced with Draco. 

After drying off and dressing in comfortable clothes, we both head to the kitchen, more than ready to fill our empty stomachs. I have been at Draco’s every night this week, only leaving to go back to my flat to pack a few more items. I told Draco about selling the flat a few days ago, and as I prop my foot in the chair with my knee to my chest, I mull over his offer. Moving in seems like a big step, but I’m here already, and I can’t see why it would be any different. It gives us the opportunity to become closer, and I’m already in love – I just haven't worked up the courage to tell him yet – so it shouldn’t make any difference. I can leave the furnishings at the flat and include them in the price. Who cares? Even if Draco and I crash as lovers, maybe I can stay in his spare bedroom. I will just make sure I save all the money I can after paying off the debt I accumulated accommodating Ginny and her damn insistence that I visit her as often as possible while she was still in school, never mind the fact that I had my own things going on in New York. 

“Have you thought about moving in at all?” Draco asks lazily as he moves from the refrigerator to the counter, piling sandwich meats and condiments on the shiny surface. 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“That doesn’t sound good. I understand if you don’t want to, Harry. No rush, honestly.”

“It’s not that, but I’m just a little scared, is all.”

“Truthfully, I am too. I haven’t shared my living space with anyone since college and I hated it then. But I like being with you. I know we have odd schedules, but if you can put up with me coming in late, then I’d like if you moved in.”

I smile, watching the emotions spread across his face. “You’ve never done a lot of things before me, have you?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And what about you?”

“I admit we have shared a lot of firsts together, sex, for example.”

“What else?”

“The shower,” I reply. 

“You’ve never showered with a lover before?” The look on his face reminds me that I didn’t do a lot of things with Ginny. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though, and I have to remind myself of that. I wanted to do a lot more, but it seemed like my ideas were never good enough, or were too ‘out there’. For someone who liked to admire so many others in film or print, she was never willing to try anything. Sex was always the same, unless she was drunk of course. Her hesitance at anything outside of her comfort zone is just another one of those things that I wish to forget and move away from.

“No.”

“Damn, well, I’m glad you were able to, finally.”

“Me too.” And I mean it. Showering with Draco was very personal, and I liked it. Being able to wash his hair and feel his hands grooming me was very erotic in its own way. 

“Listen, I won’t bother you about it, but I was just thinking, Monday we could start bringing some things over. I could help you pack; it’d be fun.”

“Packing is hardly fun, and I’m ahead of you by about a week. I started sorting things and putting them in boxes when I left Remus’ house.”

“How long have you known?”

“A while. I don’t want to live there anymore. It’s nice, but there is too much of Ginny still there, even with her gone and all of her things gone.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it right now. I’m sure you have enough on your mind with the start of the play tonight. Are you nervous?”

“Not really. It’ll be a different story when I get to the theatre, though, and if Severus is in a bad mood, it will only make things worse. For now, knowing you are going to be there supporting me is enough to keep me focussed.”

“Well that’s good. What should I wear?”

“Opening night? Something nice, but not a suit or anything. I will have to dig through my closet to find something; there will probably be an interview or two after. That’s how it usually goes.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I will wait for you out front. I don’t want my photo plastered in the papers, even if it’s beside you.”

“No, I understand. I wouldn’t want you to do that.”

Draco brings two plates, each with equally large sandwiches stuffed with meats, tomato, onion, pickles, and mayonnaise and mustard. After setting them down, he grabs two bottles of cold spring water, placing one before each of us. It’s so nice to sit here, just enjoying the comfort of a meal and his company. To be honest, I worried whether he ate when I wasn’t around because he’s so skinny. But I see now that his home is stocked with quite a few surprises. Smelling the tender meats makes my stomach growl with impatience and I pluck the tomato from the folds of the bread.

“You don’t like tomato?”

“No.”

“Another of your quirks to file away,” he mutters before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“What, are you starting some kind of mental file on me, Mr Malfoy?”

“Maybe,” he says with a smirk. How is it that he can make such a devilish motion look so good? If I weren’t completely satiated sexually at this moment, I would use my tongue to wipe away that mouth-watering smirk. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

He grins and takes another bite of his sandwich, and I take the opportunity to ask something that’s been prodding my curiosity for a while now. “When you left your father, you were sixteen, right?”

He nods, taking a drink of the water in front of him.

“Why didn’t he come after you? I mean, what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, wiping his mouth of the stray mustard, “I arrived here, in Scottsland, in a few hours. Bella left the keys to her car with me and said to go, so I did. I didn’t stop driving, and made it to Severus and Remus’ house early that morning. I didn’t have a clue what to do, but they promised me that they would take care of everything. Severus scared me, actually, he was so rough and imposing. His attitude hasn’t improved much over the years, but I’m used to it now and it doesn’t bother me as much.

“Apparently, they knew a lot more about me than I did them, because they flat out said what was and was not allowed, and that I would be living a pretty lonely life until things died down with my father. While they encouraged me to make friends, I spent a lot of time withdrawing until Severus got tired of watching me mope. He tried to get me interested in new things: horseback riding, writing, reading, dance, theatre…

“Those were just a few of them. I was too young to really care how they did things, but because Bella trusted them, I tried my best to, even if it cost me a lot of mental discomfort at first. I questioned them at every turn and while Severus was the ‘bad guy’, Remus was always willing to listen, allowing me the distance I needed to come to terms with a new environment. It took me months to trust them with little things, but eventually I came around. They had my name changed and went with me everywhere. While it was inconvenient for Severus, Remus didn’t mind. He’s been working freelance so long that it didn’t matter that he took me where I needed to go.

“Sometimes Severus came along, but it was rare. He insisted that I learn how to be independent and become a man. It was all work. I don’t know how they kept me a secret, but they did, and I’m highly grateful. They have connections; don’t let their humble façade fool you. Remus’ family is all dead, and Severus never speaks of his; even I know nothing of them. I’m sure Remus does… but I try not to concern myself with it. It was a chore, but I learned a lot. The circumstances obviously weren’t ideal, but I turned out all right.”

“Wow. I can relate, not fully, but I left the Dursleys and never looked back. They were foul people and I promised I would never go back, but did it anyway. After Ginny came back and told me my parents’ names, I went to ask Aunt Petunia about them. I shouldn’t have gone; she was horrible. I’ve come to expect that from her, though, so when I left, I went home and sat thinking, trying to figure out if anything had changed.”

“Did it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. I’d hate to know that those little details made you think you had to become someone else. I like you as you are, Harry,” he says with a smile, finishing his sandwich.

The rest of the afternoon, we spend in front of the television relaxing together. There are so many things I’m not ready to share with Draco yet, and I am sure he feels the same way. I mentally arrange my thoughts, trying to decide what I want to do about his offer to move in. While it would make things convenient, I just don’t know if I am ready for that level of commitment. But aren’t you already committed mentally? You are in love with him, what could it hurt? Moving in might make it easier to learn about one another, and it might also serve as a push into the depth we display physically, but not yet emotionally. I must be honest with myself, because I do want that emotional commitment, even if it scares me a little. It’s so new and exciting that if I overthink it, I will only make it into something more difficult than it needs to be. There are so many things to contemplate… How would we split the cost of living? Would I sleep with him or in his guest room? There are so many things that I wonder about. I’m not sure how to broach the subject of money with Draco. He doesn’t know what it’s like to go without, and seeing the opulence of this penthouse reminds me that living here is far above what I am used to. His car, his clothes, everything is so expensive. The only reason I ended up wearing any designer clothes was because Ginny insisted that I look good. I don’t know if that was for her benefit or mine, honestly. 

Watching as Draco laughs at the show on the telly, I feel warmth spread in me, just enjoying being tangled up with him on the sofa. I can imagine doing this for however long he will have me, and it’s a strange feeling that leaves me light-hearted and prompts the tender kiss I place on his pliant lips. He looks at me with surprise and chuckles.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not,” he says. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yes,” I say, standing. “I have to get my costume on and make-up prepared. Severus will probably want to speak to us for a few minutes before the show starts.”

“OK, well, I will see you when the curtain opens,” he replies, kissing me again. “Break a leg.”

I offer him what I think is the goofiest grin in return, quickly gathering a few things before leaving. The drive to the theatre is quick and uneventful, and I’m glad, because once I step in the back door, the butterflies erupt from within me, flapping their imaginary colour-dusted wings in a frenzy. I walk the dark hallway to the dressing rooms, feeling my feet become sluggish and reticent to comply with the most basic of movements. 

“Harry’s here!” I hear Cedric call out as I approach the door. He’s dressed already, applying his make-up while Krum arranges his hair, and the rest make last minute preparations. As the veteran actor, I feel bad that I’m the last one to arrive, but at least it’s early still. I slip into my overalls quickly, ignoring the looks the others give me in favour of stilling my thoughts, trying to appease my nerves. 

“Harry, you have about five bruises on each hip… you’ve been busy – please tell me it was with that pretty boy, Dragon,” Cedric says playfully.

“Oh, give him a break. Who else would he be with? Didn’t you see them at the Halloween party? I think Harry practically dragged him out the club!” Bill says in a similar tone.

“Sod off, both of you! My sex life is not for your personal enjoyment.”

“Ohh, touchy! Well, if Dragon isn’t giving it to you right, you can always join Cedric and I.”

“Krum, I don’t think either of you are my type, but thanks for the offer.”

“Well, the offer still stands, if you change your mind, of course.”

“No, thanks. Dragon and I keep one another quite satisfied.”

“He’s blushing! Look at him!” Cedric says gleefully, jumping toward me with melodramatic flourishes. “I think you’re in love!”

“Why are you taking the piss, Cedric? So what? Just leave it be; I’d like to get dressed in peace.”

The sandy-haired man walks away in a huff and plants himself in Krum’s lap, re-arranging his hair as they laugh at my expense. I sit next to Bill as he applies his make-up, and begin my own journey into the Zen-like meditation of becoming ‘Nat’.

“Don’t worry about them, Harry. They’re just nervous.”

“Right.”

“So, are they right? Your face is about as red as a radish.”

“Right about what?” I ask, not wanting to come to my own defence too quickly. I’d rather this be a casual exchange, not the kind that leads to more teasing. This is all very typical, listening to other actors running their lines at the last minute, checking their costumes and trying to get in character. I have always been the kind of actor who just soaks up the atmosphere of the theatre, allowing the ghosts of the past to seep into me, to guide me along the way. When I was on Broadway, we had a ritual before productions began. There was a statue of a toad that we would all touch, rub or otherwise kiss in order to give some semblance of order to the chaos that inevitably ensues before the start of a show. Bill turns to look at me, his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck and shiny. I don’t think I ever noticed how shiny it was before, but maybe that was because I was so earnest at being away from him. Now, it’s kind of nice to think I have a friend in him. I think after everything, if Bill and I can’t at least have some common ground, then I’m in a lot more trouble than I realised. 

“You’re in love,” he says flatly. The normal tone he employs is lost, but I wonder if that’s how he’s decided to get ready for the show.

“A bit, yeah,” I say with a smile. He returns it, but his features harden again just as quickly and he resumes his makeup. 

“Bill, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and before I can dig any deeper, Severus enters, his arms crossed over his chest. The man we have all come to love/hate stands with an imposing black shirt and pants, never taking his steady, beady eyes off of each of us. Tightly drawn lips alert me to the kind of mood he’s in, and I brace myself for harsh words. 

Everyone turns to look at him, and the room quiets eerily. 

“Everyone is on time; I expect this to be a trend for the duration of the show. You have all worked hard, so don’t blow it now.” His words are cold, and as I have come to know him, that is as close to a compliment for our efforts as we will get. “Harry, after the show I want to see you in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now finish getting ready; the house is already starting to fill and we will start on time.”

Everyone grumbles their agreement, the jovial mood soured by Severus’ lack of cordiality. 

By the time I finish with my makeup, it’s time to begin the show. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, just clearing my mind of all the clutter of emotions and personal drama that doesn’t pertain to the production. 

The curtain opens and we begin. The set is desolate, much like each character. The back wall of the set is lit with harsh reds and oranges, indicating sunset. A long barbed wire fence lines the rear of the stage, creating a grungy, derelict slum, or shantytown as it’s called. There is a train in the distance and cardboard boxes litter the stage, showing the living arrangements of each of the characters. I feel partially naked in my overalls with no shirt, exposing my flanks. I hope that the bruises Draco left aren’t visible to the audience; I don’t need Severus imposing some inane fine on me for not being presentable. Although, if you ask me, if only adds to the abusive effect that Bill is supposed to create. 

I feel depressed and desperate with each line that passes, feeling that longing to share in the same kind of relationship that Shakespeare and Bama have, only fuelling some of the already present emotions within me. It’s hard not to think of Draco and the relationship we share as I go through the lines, act out being hit, and “give myself” to Bill as a harsh lover. He has come a long way, and whatever mood he was in before the show began is rubbing off on his performance. He’s harsh, truly applying every sadistic desire to the production, and the more I get into my role, the more lethargic I become. 

Kingsley is spectacular as he and Montague display a budding relationship between a straight man and a whore. It’s interesting to think that I can now understand it, knowing what I do about being on the other side of things. I can honestly say that Bill’s costume slightly disgusts me. It’s been dirtied up a bit, and looks well used. The shirt is open partially at the throat, exposing his pectorals, which is devoid of hair, the flaps resting against his heaving chest. 

Nat begs and pleads for Bama to take him in, promises all the love and sexual favours he could ever desire, and is rejected, only to go back to Billy and be brought into one of his schemes to make money. He wants to rob a bank, and wants Nat to help, but since Nat is trying to get away from Billy, he balks at the request, only to find himself forced into submission. Nat is jealous of Shakespeare and Bama’s relationship, so in his efforts to gain the love and affection of the older man, he only creates more tension. The robbery goes wrong, and Shakespeare ends up dead, and Nat, desolate. It’s all so very sad, and as I peer into the audience from time to time, I see their reactions, sadness, some with tears in their eyes, as we move through the motions. It’s been a horrible run, not because any of us lacked any skill, but because we were all so involved in the roles. 

Just as easily as it began, the story ends, and we bow to the applause of the audience. I see Draco standing in the front, a controlled smile on his face and his eyes gleaming. It makes me feel good to see him there, being supportive of my profession. I don’t expect him to come to all of my performances, but seeing him at opening night of the play that brought us together makes it even more meaningful. 

We exit the stage, moving quickly to the dressing rooms as our bodies thrum with adrenaline. It’s been an exciting night, that’s obvious. The show went off well, at least I think so. The rest of the guys are giddy with being on stage for the first time, and I have to admit that they did rather well. I don’t make it a habit to analyse those I am working with, but I was able to watch quite a bit of their actions from backstage between scenes. Nott spent the majority of the evening reminding us where we needed to be and when, also making sure no one wandered off for too long. 

I scrub the make-up off my face, feeling light and free, ready to cuddle with Draco or go to the club if that’s what he wants. I want to know what he thought of the show, of my acting; I want his approval. I think deep down part of me needs his approval. The buzz dies down a little and I remove my costume, hanging it back up before dressing. I’m supposed to meet Severus in his office! He’s not going to be happy if I keep him waiting. Hopefully Draco is patient enough to wait for me; I really don’t want to leave without seeing him. We need to figure out what the plans for the evening are – whether he wants me to go home with him, to be precise. 

I head out of the bathroom, and silence greets me. I look around, and the other guys have gone, I’m not sure where, but I’m alone as I gather my things. I stuff my wallet and keys in my pocket, and then I hear the hollow, slow clap of two hands and feel uneasy. I stop, turning to look, only to see a tall, slender man with broad shoulders and short, silvery-blond hair staring at me. His mouth is curved into the kind of sneer that rivals Severus’, and I suddenly feel very panicked. 

“Impressive performance, Mr Potter. It’s a shame that you left Broadway to work on substandard scripts, in smaller venues, but it was a good thing I found you. I’ve been eager to see you work again since your display in ‘Phantom of the Opera’. I wonder if your parents would be proud to see their only son in such a degrading role,” he says. His voice is cold and distant. Why do I recognise him?

“Who are you?”

“An old family friend, my boy. Tell me, is my son taking care of you? I was informed that the two of you had taken up together.”

“Son?” And then realisation hits. I feel like a complete idiot as I stare at this older, crueller version of Draco. No. Draco is nothing like him. I feel anger flare within me as his practised gaze becomes his weapon. “Lucius Malfoy.”

“I prefer Senator, but you can call me Lucius.”

“Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer, but he approaches me, determined in his strides. I have nowhere to go, and he pins me against the wall, his harsh fingers digging into my chest. 

“That’s no way to greet me, boy. Don’t you know who I am?”

“Well enough, now let go of me,” I spit, feeling the anger become stronger.

“You are in no position to give orders, Potter!”

“What do you know about my parents?” My thoughts are racing as I take in his words, evaluating his position, trying to think of the least harmful way to get away from the wall. I could keep him talking and distracted, and hope that my absence alerts Severus or Draco to my plight. I could also knee him in his pathetic groin, and take revenge for his cowardly acts against Draco. 

“We all went to school together. They are old family friends, Harry. Too meddlesome for their own good, I’m afraid. You see, Lily and James—”

“Lucius!” I turn to look in the doorway and see Severus, his shoulders squared and his face a harsh line of fury.

“Severus, how nice to see you again. Tell me, did Bella put you up to taking my son, or did you just think that kidnapping was a more lucrative prospect than the stage?”

“Let him go, Lucius.”

“No, I don’t think so. I kind of like our young Potter.”

“Why are you here?”

“A few reasons. I wanted to see my son, naturally. He’s quite evasive, the ungrateful little piss. And I couldn’t wait to meet the only son of the dearly departed Lily and James. You remember them, don’t you, Severus? And then there is the little matter of putting up the money for this abhorrent production,” he says harshly, keeping his tight grip on my shirt. His knuckles press into my chest, and it hurts. The benefactor of the play was someone named Saul… not Lucius.

I look from Severus to Lucius, wondering what the hell is going on. This can’t be happening. How can this man know my parents, and how can Severus know them? He never told me anything about them! He’s never mentioned a thing, and I feel a twinge of betrayal tug at my heart knowing that Severus knew them.

“You never told him about his parents?”

Severus doesn’t speak, and I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I’ve never been one to cry, but I can’t help the warring emotions - anger and betrayal - as I look at the man I’ve grown to respect. 

“Pity. Now, where is my son? I wish to have a few words with him.”

“You will not have any words with him,” Severus growls. “Let Harry go.”

“I think it’s my prerogative as the benefactor of this delightful show that I can have a few words with the actors, is it not?”

“You’re sick, Lucius.” Severus doesn’t keep his distance much longer; he comes into the dressing rooms, making quick, determined steps toward the other man. Everything begins to happen in slow motion. Lucius lets go of me and squares off with Severus. I don’t know how long I’ve been back here, but the sudden realisation that Draco is going to come looking for me dawns and I want to get away to warn him. 

“I’m not the kidnapper, Severus,” Lucius accuses, and then I hear his voice. His footsteps against the floor and it all comes crashing down. A situation that could only get worse does with the appearance of Draco in the doorway, unbuttoning his shirt partially.

“Harry, what’s taking so long?” Draco asks as he rounds the corner and looks at me with a brilliant smile. 

I offer my sympathies as my mind races with the details I’ve just learned, hoping he can see the look on my face and that I didn’t want this. It all feels like a bad dream; I want to shake myself awake, but the look of horror on Draco’s face confirms that I’m not asleep. The look quickly shifts from surprise to anger. 

“Ah, Draco, I was just asking about you,” Lucius says with a wicked smile. There is no warmth, no fatherly affection, just the cold, hard look of fury. “Imagine my surprise when I met young Dudley Dursley last month and found out that he knew a young man who looked just like me. Of course, he did say that Dragon’s hair was longer. I can see now why he said that, Draco; we do look very similar. And to think, you’ve been here all along. And then to learn that you had taken up with his cousin, the Harry Potter, well I just had to see for myself…”

“Harry?” Draco says, his voice shaky. I can only offer a shrug as he looks around the room, his eyes landing on Severus and his father. “Severus, what is this? Why the fuck are you here?” He points at his father, his face defiant and demanding.

What the hell is going on?

“He’s leaving, aren’t you, Lucius?”

“Is that any way to treat the man who funded your show, Severus?”

“No, but since I’m a smarter man than you took me for, your appearance doesn’t mean we lose any money and that you have served your purpose. Now leave and don’t ever come back to my theatre!”

“As you wish. I will see you both again soon, so don’t get too comfortable,” Lucius says as he walks toward the door. He reaches out a hand, attempting to touch Draco on his way out, and with the courage he claims he lacks, Draco smacks it away.

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Is that any way to treat your father, boy?” The older Malfoy’s face contorts angrily, his features suspended in seeming disbelief at Draco’s refusal to accept his treatment. I feel a slight swell of pride seeing Draco’s reaction, even if I know this is difficult for him. He’s not going to take your shit anymore, Lucius.

“I see a pathetic excuse for a man, someone who merely fucked my mother and sired a child, not a father,” Draco hisses. His face is cold and I see tears threatening to spill – but I wait.

“You fucking—” He reaches for Draco, and I can’t stand and watch any longer. I grab his hand before it can get anywhere near Draco and hold it firmly, digging my fingers into his hard, bony arm.


	26. I Want Answers

Chapter 26: I Want Answers  
Draco’s POV

 

“ …Now leave and don’t ever come back to my theatre!”

There are some things that are absolute in life: death, taxes and gnawing gut instinct - at least in my opinion. Everyone has a gut instinct, but many people stop listening to it in favour of trusting in the fates, destiny, or something as simple as the power of prayer. I have always trusted my gut instinct. I use it like radar, alerting me to situations and circumstances that are possibly harmful, because on more than one occasion, it has served to save my skin; I learned to trust the hard lump that grew and cultivated in my stomach before bad things happened. Granted, when you feel it, you second-guess every action, wondering when the reaction will come, because there is inevitably a reaction. When I left Slytherin Tower, I had no idea that the heavy lump in my stomach meant that I would be standing face to face with my father, while Severus attempts to make him leave, and Harry stands watching as each event unfolds. My long-dormant anger unfurls, and I feel a sense of desperation that hasn’t stung at my insides since the day he ran that godforsaken poker across my skin, scarring me physically, and emotionally, for life.

“As you wish. I will see you both again soon, so don’t get too comfortable,” Lucius says as he walks toward the door. He reaches out, and I feel every muscle in my body tense. It’s now or never, Draco… Show him he has no control over you! My conscience screams like a hungry child, daring me to react. And as quickly as that voice of strength roars, I see the look in Harry’s eyes and want nothing more than to show him I can be strong too, even if it isn’t for me. No, this display is for Harry, because being with him brings that out of me. Being with him makes me want to be strong – and Lucius must sense it because his face twists into a grimace of revulsion, irritation, and anger. There are so many expressions that cross his cold features before the words to accompany my physical attack against his person can even begin to worm their way free from my lips. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!” 

“Is that any way to treat your father, boy?” Boy? I haven’t been a boy since the day his handprint remained on my shoulder for a month – I haven’t been a boy since the day he insisted on abusing my body like I was a man. No, I haven’t been a boy for a long time. 

Somehow I manage to suppress the feeling of severe nausea. Seeing him has never made me feel so sick and disgusted before. Maybe it’s the deep, dark circles under his eyes, or the way his cheeks protrude through his skin like a wraith. He looks half-dead, and maybe that’s best for him, because seeing him only makes me wish I didn’t share his genes. Once again, I find my voice, hissing clearly, “I see a pathetic excuse for a man, someone who merely fucked my mother and sired a child, not a father.”

“You fucking—” When the distance ceases to remain between us, I can already feel my skin stinging from whatever punishment he plans to deliver. My eyes close partially, but the feeling never comes. The only sounds in the stuffy room are my loud heartbeat, thudding against my chest, and heavy breaths, full of tension. I open my eyes, expecting the worst, but what I see is hardly worse – it makes my heart flutter with child-like happiness. Harry has his hand firmly wrapped around Lucius’ wrist, and challenges him with every controlled breath. I can’t believe it. No one has ever stood up for me like this before, ever. I suddenly feel waves of emotion crashing against me, quelling the fire within. 

“Don’t you lay a fucking finger on him, you bastard,” Harry says, his voice a low, predatory growl that shakes my insides. I feel the flush of magnetic attraction to his strength, his power, and control over the situation. My father’s response is indignant surprise, but he fights, jerking his hand from Harry’s methodical grasp. Facing one another, Harry stands with his chest raised and footing sure as Lucius stares at him, his fists clenching tightly, and each muscle in his jaw beginning to bunch with tension. 

“So, there is a lion underneath that cowardly actor after all. I see that you two are matched well; one who likes to pretend to take it, and the other who does.” The sneer of unidentifiable emotion on my father’s face works its way through me, making me feel like shit, but also like I’ve made Harry’s life worse. He was normal before me, and while he made his own decisions, I can’t help but feel like I’ve made his life more complicated than ever. As irrational as it is, I wonder if my love for him will only cause him pain by proxy. Painful seconds pass as I look from my father to Harry and see a flash of anger beneath those vivid green eyes. They sparkle like liquid jewels, reflecting the soft light of the dressing room, and I grow even more anxious as the beats of my heart become like an angry flock of geese. And then something I never expected happens. 

“Get out!” Harry growls and shoves my father’s thinner, taller frame through the cracked doorway of the dressing room. Lucius’ hands reach for support, but there is none, and he stumbles with the strength of Harry’s momentum, lowering his centre of gravity in order to remain standing. His pride would never allow him to fall, not when there are so many here to view such a weakness on his part. I still can’t believe he’s here. There is too much going on, and I want some fucking answers. Severus knows a lot more than he is willing to say, and I for one am tired of believing everything will be all right, when it isn’t. Part of me snaps as I watch my father’s icy glare rip through me with the same ire that brought about the tight, silvery reminder on my back of his disdain for my life choices and me. 

His tailored suit rumples as he stands before us with his chest set wide and his face hard as stone; the silver shirt and dark tie with the black suit only makes him look paler than usual as he turns to leave. He disappears from my line of sight, and the only thing I hear is a quick, dull thud. My heart, still pounding wildly, does a flip when Harry sweeps me into his arms with his lips pressing against my chin and soft questions filter through my hazy mind. Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he? I barely hear it as I feel the tug of frustration against my temples, making my head hurt and my heart truly ache for the first time in years. It’s that same fear that no matter how far away I get, or how much I age, Lucius still has some tight hold on me. I nod, only able to comprehend the soft touch of Harry’s lips to mine before Severus’ voice brings me back to reality; the cold hard reality that my father knows where I am and that he will be back. 

“Wait here.” The tension in my chest becomes like a rubber band, ready to rip apart with the slightest movement. Severus leaves and I’m aware that Harry is still holding me, offering comfort to my weary mind and body. In fact, the more I feel the tunnel vision become clear, I think he is the only reason I’m still standing. Were it not for his support, I think my knees would have effectively buckled and sent me to the floor in a heap of unrestrained emotion. The longer I wait in Harry’s arms for my body to fall, I notice he is trembling; his own breath is ragged and hot against my skin. It isn’t sensual, not like it should be, and I curse my father for ever showing his face. The knowledge that I am not as safe as I once thought only makes me feel more anger at the lack of control I have in my own life. It is here, in this moment, that my tongue, like sandpaper, scratches the inside of my mouth in attempts to ask a simple question, one that my voice won’t allow, and one that is quieted by Harry’s fingertips brushing against my cheeks. 

He tilts my face toward his, and his eyes, like violent glitter, hold me still, captivating and frightening me at the same time. I feel a wet smudge against my cheek and realise that tears, cold and electric against my skin, are leaving terrifying trails in the wake of Harry’s gentle touch. Seeing him now, like this, reminds me why I feel so much for him. It reminds me that this is why he is someone I want in my life and why he has captured my heart. Whether it’s his truly noble intentions or not, he makes me feel like I’m the only one that matters in his world. His attention is always so clear, so pure and without motive, that I want to tell him I love him, but that would only make matters worse. I love you, Harry. My only option is to show him, to make him feel every bit of the welling heat in my heart, or the stubborn drive to lock him away from this mess. This isn’t fair to Harry. Or me, I remind myself. 

His face, beautiful and alight with anger, is red with adrenaline and also wet with emotion. If the circumstances were a little different, I think I would kiss each drop away, savouring the bittersweet flavour of rampant emotion. I don’t know what he’s feeling, but in the heat of the moment, I lay claim to those lips, giving and taking the power that I so desperately need right now. He gives, easily accepting of my hunger, some insane beast that claws at my belly, telling me I need this. I need this to feel normal again; I need this to feel him, to know that he hasn’t abandoned me, even with his arms holding me so tight I can’t breathe. My lack of oxygen might be due to the intensity of emotion, but that’s fine with me, especially when his warm, slick tongue darts against mine, feeding me with the most exquisite fare. He moans as I pull him closer, devouring him. I hope he can understand why I’m doing this. It’s the need to know that he’s still here with me, even through the bad times. I don’t want either of us to run away, and part of me feels him running already. When I feel the obvious signs of arousal from both of us, I wonder briefly if this is right. There are so many emotions flying high, so many questions hanging in the air; when I hear the voices of Severus, Remus and someone else, I pull away from Harry’s perfect lips, panting. 

Our lips disentangle, but he doesn’t let me go, and I’m grateful. Without him anchoring me, I might dissolve to the floor and never find the strength to stand again. I bury my face into Harry’s shoulder while I silently wipe away the remaining tears against my cheeks and steady myself. When I look up, I see Severus, Remus and Sirius, and a flood of questions comes to mind.

“Go home and take Harry with you. Sirius will follow you to make sure you are safe. No arguments,” Severus says, his voice tired and rough. 

“Why Sirius? What the hell is he going to protect us from?”

“Draco!” Severus growls, “You will go and not ask questions. Remus and I will be there in the morning.”

“But—”

“No buts!” Severus yells, his voice finally breaking. “Go home! Remus and I will be there in the morning to talk to you both.” And just like that, Severus leaves, and Remus offers a look of practised compassion. The storm is just beginning; I feel the imaginary rain falling against my skin in heavy, torrential drops. Harry releases me, but his fingers intertwine with mine and he turns to proudly face Sirius. His gaze never shifts, and his voice breaks with strength as he speaks.

“Lead the way.”

He takes my hand, guiding me outside, as Sirius takes quick steps to the back of the theatre where we parked. Harry squeezes my hand as we step into the open; the chilled, night air stings our already raw cheeks as we separate to our respective vehicles. As I sit in mine, I wait, just wanting to make sure that Harry drives away before I do. My shaky hands rest on the steering wheel, letting the soft vibrations of the car run through me. I wait, watching as the brake lights on Harry’s little car light up, but he doesn’t move. I turn down the radio and listen to the engine falter as the starter fails to turn over. I get out and walk to the driver’s side of his car, and watch as he rests his head against the small grey wheel, his knuckles white and angry against the hard leather. 

I knock on the clear glass and startle him, because his head snaps up quickly and he rolls the window down when he realises who it is. 

“Just ride with me,” I say softly and he looks at me with uncertainty. 

“It’s fine. Just give it a second,” he protests. I suddenly understand something that didn’t make sense to me before and feel guilt wash over me.

“Harry, please, ride with me?” I ask, hoping he takes the request as me just wanting to be near him. He’s been so supportive already, and I just don’t want to leave him alone – or be alone. He exhales heavily and his hot breath coils in the air as a soft puff before disappearing and the window closes. He grabs a bag from the front passenger’s seat and gets out. By the time he sits down beside me, his face is drawn, and he sighs again. Asking what’s wrong might be a bad idea, so instead I pull out, and watch in my rear-view mirror as Sirius falls in line behind us. At the first red traffic light, I look at Harry. He stares out the window, his elbow on the edge of doorframe, the other clutching his bag tightly. I wish I knew what is going through his head. He seems so lost and alone, and while I feel the same way, I am bursting at the seams to break the silence that has covered us so thoroughly. 

“Harry?” I question softly, as I pull away from the now green light. I watch his breath fog the window for a moment and I hear his bag shift to the floor of the car. His fingers brush against mine as I shift gears and whether the need to speak is there or not, he waits. I am content to know that he is still here. With me.

I feel like an insecure mess as his moist hand closes over mine. I swear I can feel our hearts beating as one as the distance to Slytherin Tower becomes shorter and shorter. I park and quickly get out of the car as Sirius pulls into an empty space beside us. Harry fumbles with his bag and closes the door softly and the chirp of the alarm sounds in the hollow garage.

“I’ll go up first to check things out, make sure there aren’t any surprises waiting. You two wait downstairs,” Sirius says and begins to walk up to the building. 

“And what makes you think we should trust you?” I ask, demanding some sort of evidence to his ability to protect us.

“You shouldn’t. But it’s your only choice.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am, actually. You can trust Severus or not; it’s your choice.”

“I want proof.”

“What sort of proof do you need, Dragon? I don’t have some magical ability to just make you trust me. You just have to figure it out for yourself. I can’t tell you anything; those are my orders. I am to wait until Severus and Remus arrive, and that’s that. Now, you two may not mind sitting in the cold, but I, on the other hand, do. So what will it be, gentlemen?” he asks, and begins to walk toward the entrance.

Why does it always come down to making a black and white decision? To trust or not to trust, or to just let my guard down for one moment. There is only one person that close, and even Harry is connected with this – his past, my past – it’s all some game. Why does it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t Severus come with us? Why am I stuck with this decision alone, when I don’t know how to make it? Long moments pass, and I look at Harry. His face is long, and he shrugs with indifference. “Wait! You need the elevator key,” I reply, feeling my body react to the stress of the evening. My feet feel like lead weights are resting inside them as I approach the medium-build man with long, messy black hair. It momentarily reminds me of Harry, but without Harry’s striking eyes or the warmth of his face to accompany it. 

“What floor are you on?”

“The top floor.” Why doesn’t he know this already? If he’s to be the damn bodyguard for the night, shouldn’t he know this? Each moment that passes only serves to irritate me further as I wonder what the fuck is going on. I have finally stopped shaking and I wonder if it’s because I’m actually calm, or just being here with Harry that makes the situation seem less intense. Must be Harry.

“Spoilt little thing, aren’t you?” The tone of his voice is irritating and digs deep inside me in a way I can’t explain. It’s not exactly my fault I have the money to live in such comfort. Sure, I could have chosen to live in a smaller apartment, I could have bought a house, or even left town, but I chose to stay here. I chose to stay within my comfort zone and not let the tyranny of my father dictate my actions. So I’m a little spoiled… I don’t force anyone else to live like I do. 

“Make it fast, will you?” I say impatiently. I tell myself that under any other circumstances, my pampered lifestyle wouldn’t make me feel defensive, but noting Harry’s reluctance to leave his car behind and his constant reluctance to spend money, I now feel bad - not because I have money, but because Harry is struggling. I don’t know anything about that, and seeing it firsthand makes me wonder how his life turned out that way. Personally, I wouldn’t have a dime if it weren’t for my mother. She made sure I was well taken care of, even in death, and I will be forever grateful for that. My shrewd business sense keeps me living comfortably, not the money she left behind. 

I’m still a little confused at Severus’ insistence that Sirius be the one to follow us. What exactly is his position in this mess? I don’t know if I trust him, especially not when Lucius has already proven he can, and has, found me. I am not looking forward to the aftermath of this at all. Nothing Lucius does is by half, and his promise to return will be fulfilled; that’s just the kind of man he is. He never says anything that won’t be held tightly for every advantage he can reap.

Harry and I walk inside; his footing is slow and careful, while mine is quick. I just want to be inside my sanctuary. I want to be with Harry and away from the outside world, a place that only serves to ruin good things. We stop in the lobby and the longer I look at the pensive expression on Harry’s face, the more I just want to kiss him again and forget everything that transpired this evening. It’s the curve of his neck and the way his muscled arms lay stiffly at his sides – he begs to be free from his thoughts – as we wait impatiently for Sirius to return. It’s so very surreal and I just wait, watching Harry as the time ticks by. He finally looks up and offers me a weak smile, but one that lifts my spirits all the same. 

“Harry?”

His expression never changes and he looks at the floor again. It’s like there are a million thoughts racing through his head. 

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

I approach him, unsure of what I really want to do. I don’t know the reason, but some instinct is driving me. Something inside me screams to comfort him, even if I don’t know why. I reach for him, but start to regret it when he flinches. My hand hangs in mid-air, ready to advance or retreat. I fight the coward inside me and finally my hand connects with his skin. It pulses underneath my touch and our eyes meet. As I lean in to taste his lips, Sirius’ voice cuts through the moment. 

“All clear.”

In pursuit of the calm air of my home, I follow Sirius, turning to watch Harry as he plods along behind us. Maybe he’s just tired. The ride to the penthouse is silent, but not because I want it to be; I just can’t bring myself to speak with Sirius around. Harry’s relationship and mine isn’t for him, and at the moment, I’m wondering if it’s for us. 

I don’t know why I’m being so insecure, not when he’s already shown me he’s not going anywhere. This is unfair. This whole situation isn’t fair to either of us and the longer I pore over everything, the more maudlin I become. When we finally make it upstairs, Harry heads straight to the bedroom; I’ll give him his space for now. I’m not really hungry, but I know I need to eat something, so I head to the kitchen and begin fixing something for the three of us. Nothing big, I will probably only peck most of it anyway. 

I open a few cans of soup and grab some crackers from the cabinet. It’s cool outside, the large window in the sitting room is foggy with frost and Sirius sits on the couch. He turns the television on, flipping channels until he finally stops on some cheesy porn. It’s all soft core, two women swallowing one another in fuzzy ecstasy. It isn’t explicit, but I still don’t want to see it. If I had any inclinations to the female anatomy I wouldn’t enjoy fucking Harry so much. 

“Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t.”

“This is my home, you prick. Change the channel.”

“Draco!” Harry says from the bedroom, his face a mask of irritation.

“What?” Am I seriously going to have to explain myself? 

“Just stop,” he says.

“I don’t want to watch two women fucking. The least he can do is show a little respect. He’s only the hired help, after all.”

“Whatever. Sirius, do you mind changing it to something else?”

Harry is too nice. This is my damn home; I shouldn’t have to watch that if I don’t want to. 

“Nice to know you have him on a leash. Spoilt brat,” Sirius says, loud enough for me to hear. 

“There’s some soup in here, Harry.” I conveniently ignore Sirius’ words in favour of staying in Harry’s good graces. Harry comes into the kitchen and offers me a brief kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” he says softly and smiles. “And just let him be. We can go to bed and ignore him.”

I nod, still irritated with Sirius’ lack of respect. We eat in relative silence, listening as Sirius changes channels. I rub my foot against Harry’s, just wanting to touch him. He doesn’t pull away, and I see a faint blush colour his ears. It’s so odd, now that the atmosphere is relaxing a little; I’m almost ready to go to bed, but I know once in there, sleep will come too fast, as will the truth in the morning. While I’m ready for answers, I almost want to stay wrapped in this comfortable shell as long as possible. I am comfortable in my ignorance – but I know that isn’t going to last. 

When Harry stops eating, I take his bowl and mine, putting them in the sink until tomorrow. I can worry about such a meaningless thing then. I’d rather spend the time with Harry before the shit hits the fan and he may decide to leave, never looking back. Christ, I don’t need him to somehow blame me for something I know nothing about. After seeing the intensity in his reaction to my father, I don’t want to be on the opposite side of his anger. 

He takes a seat on the couch and I join him, avoiding speaking to Sirius. I can pretend he isn’t here if I keep my line of sight toward Harry. 

“There’s some soup on the stove, Sirius,” I say curtly. 

“How nice. You’re housetrained too!”

“I’m not the one named after a dog,” I reply. 

“It’s a star.”

“A dog star. So?”

Harry’s hand clamps down on my thigh and I am momentarily upset by his obvious attempt to shut me up, but when I feel the effects of his touch, I don’t mind.

I watch as Sirius walks to the kitchen and hear him prepare a bowl of the light fare. 

“Don’t mess with anything; I don’t want to have to clean up after you.”

“But you’re so domesticated already,” he says with a toothy grin that I wish I could just smack off his face. “Where am I sleeping?”

“On the couch,” I state simply. 

Harry’s head rests against the back of the sofa, his hand still on my thigh. The longer he touches me, the more eros calls. I feel it, almost like a drug running through my veins, demanding my attention. I ignore the television, placing my hand on his thigh, running it along the soft material of his trousers. He looks up, his ears red with embarrassment, and I kiss his neck softly, running the tips of my fingers along the front of his jeans. 

“Stop, Draco,” he whispers, but the tone is playful, more like ‘Stop, Draco, he’ll see.’ And I don’t care if he does. Well… I do, but Harry doesn’t know that.

“Shut up, Harry,” I reply, feeling his cock come to life under my touches. I lick the shell of his ear and he moans softly in response as I work the brass button through its hole; the slide of his zip falls easily as I work the panels open for better access. 

He opens his legs a bit, allowing me better access to his body, and I take the opportunity, running my hand along his shaft, enjoying the way his body trembles underneath my touches. When I wrap my fingers around his cock, I feel his breath hiss against my neck and his hand giving me the same attention. It doesn’t take much for Harry to turn me on, and Gods, it feels good. Going from barely having a libido to having one that doesn’t end is a nice change. I can’t keep my hands off him, no matter the shit going on around us. I think in some way, knowing that I can touch him as much as I want, just makes me feel better. So what if it’s needy? In a way, I do need him. I need his calm nature that contrasts with my cynical side – especially since I only really become myself around him. I don’t feel the need to make quips to hurt him, or feel defensive; it’s a nice change from how I normally act with people. 

“I want you, Harry,” I whisper, trailing my lips along the side of his neck.

“You had me this morning,” he says breathlessly with a grin, his words teasing me. 

“Aye, but I can’t help touching you, fucking you…” 

He’s so fucking hard, and I just want to lick every inch of his cock. His head falls back against the sofa once again, only this time he does it panting softly as I stroke him. I don’t want him to finish, and I carefully avoid kissing him fully until he submits. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he says, his voice betraying every thought. Request granted. I love that husky, needy voice he gets when he’s aroused, it only feeds my own reactions to him and it feels brilliant. I slam the door to the bedroom with my foot, and watch as he drops his jeans and rips his shirt from his shoulders. I watch him walk to the bed, his stocky frame graceful in its own way; he’s all muscle. 

I ease out of my clothes, letting them pool at my feet, and watch as Harry strokes his cock slowly. He looks like a god, cut from rose-coloured marble, and polished to perfection. His cheeks are red and his hair a mess as he spreads his legs further, luring me closer. Quick steps later and I am on top of him, covering him and pinning his arms to the bed. He groans softly as my lips and teeth graze the supple, tender skin of his creamy neck. If I were a vampire, I could imagine feeding freely from the pulsing vein that exposes itself to me readily. With quick, eager nips, he is putty in my hands, allowing me to mould his pleasure with each swipe of my tongue against his soft flesh. He arches into me, rubbing his cock against mine, or anything else solid to obtain the much-desired friction it causes. 

I make no promises of ease, and Harry easily bends to my desires as I lubricate us both and push inside his welcoming heat. I will never grow tired of this fully enveloped feeling – the heat that passes over my skin, the way his hips jerk to meet me, and each mewl as it comes from his lips. I watch his expression change as the sweet journey into oblivion begins. His lips curl and his fingers grip the bedding tightly. Sliding his legs open further, I go deeper than ever, rewarded by his blissful cries of pleasure. I love this. I love him and if I weren’t so damn cowardly, I would tell him, right here, now that he is the only one for me, and that I could get lost in his offering. At some point, the emotion stops, or rather it’s so high it can’t go any further, and the well of pleasure teems with each erratic caress inside him. He clamps down, holding me, and I feel like I’m being pushed and pulled as the rush to fill him takes over. I move harder and faster, savouring each twitch of his body around me until he pants my name and I watch as he comes, feeling so very satisfied by that knowledge alone. 

Unexpectedly, I spiral out of control, finding myself wanting to bow at Harry’s feet. I feel each tingle as it rips through me until there is nothing left to give, and I feel my muscles slacken under my weight. I love you. I love you! The look in his eyes is one that I wish to memorise – utter satiation and something else – etching his very being into mine. If I could join with him, I would and never feel weak for it. How this one man affects me so, I will never know. But I feel it in each pulse that thumps against my skin until I can longer take the stimulation against my cock. Burying my head in his shoulder is more for comfort from my cowardice than fatigue. It’s easier to hide for now than admit the truth; the truth that I don’t want to be without him in my life. Lips against lips, sweet, and yielding allow me one last moment to savour him before disentangling myself from him.

I vaguely register the shift in the mattress as Harry gets out of bed and I roll to one side, reaching for tissues to clean myself off. I am too emotionally and physically drained to care, so long as Harry returns quickly. All of my regular habits fly out the window as I lazily toss the soiled paper into the basket beside the bed. I must be insane. After the events of the day – my father, these new developments – I realise that Harry’s protectiveness was an absolute turn-on. The way he faced down my father was like an aphrodisiac to me and in some way, I feel utterly at peace with the notion, even if it is a little scary. Harry returns lazily, flopping onto the bed unceremoniously with a sigh.

“Rough day?” I ask jokingly. I know the answer, but I feel like making a joke of it all will make it less overbearing. 

“Just the usual: good sex, a play, protecting my boyfriend from his psychotic father.”

I can’t help but chuckle at his nonchalance. While I feel tired, my mind is still working feverishly to get answers. Morning cannot come fast enough for my liking, even if I am content for the night to drag on forever.

“Harry, I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you were brilliant in the play.”

“Thanks,” he says softly, kissing me gently. “It’s a lot of fun, even if getting there is a struggle.”

“About tonight,” I begin, “I’m really sorry for my father. I don’t know what’s going on, but I plan to get some answers in the morning.”

“Can we forget it for now? I’d rather just appreciate the silence, and you. Not that I want to ignore that there are bigger things going on, but right now this is all that matters to me.”

“All right. You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, a little sore, but I like it. It’s weird. It reminds me that you were there.”

I know what he means. “You’re beautiful, Harry.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Draco. Don’t play coy with me; everyone knows you’re a peacock.”

I feign horror, but I know it’s true. I can’t deny the obvious, that I am too pretty and proud for my own good most days, except when I’m with Harry.

“You know, you act different with other people. Short, snappy – like you were when we first met. Is it a rare treat that I get to see you at your best?”

“I don’t know about my best, but in a way, I want you to see the best parts of me.”

“I do.” And those simple words cinch my heart as if he’d just professed his undying love for me; maybe because in their simplicity, those two words feel permanent, even if they aren’t. 

“You think it will all go to hell in the morning?”

“I don’t know, but if Sirius leaves any drool on my sofa, I think I’ll have a few choice words for him.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“I am, but I think you like it.”

“I just like you, Draco. Nothing your father said or did tonight changes that; you understand that, don’t you?”

Since when did I become such an emotional wreck? All it takes is a few choice words and Harry takes control of my being with an absolute hold. “Yeah,” I finally manage.

“It’s just another day. We aren’t our parents, we aren’t what the people in our lives tried to make us, and that’s all that matters, right?” He yawns, nestling close to me before whispering a soft goodnight.

I envy Harry’s outlook, because the sad fact is I am much more jaded about people and life. But for now, I don’t have to tell him that. For now, I can kiss him gently and fall asleep, content for what feels like the first time in my life. When I think that he’s asleep, my long dormant courage comes and I am able to verbalise the feelings within me. 

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

It’s just another day, I remind myself sternly before sinking into my dreams, feeling whole.


	27. Vague Truths

Chapter 27: Vague Truths  
Harry’s POV

 

The morning sunlight burns my itchy, tired eyes. Draco’s arm wraps around me tightly, holding me as though his life depends upon contact with me. My vision is cloudy and I search the night table for my glasses until I remember that I wore my contacts last night. Bugger. After unfolding Draco’s arm from my body, I move gingerly toward the bathroom, seeking asylum from the heavy weight pressing against my shoulders. The knowledge that things just seem to get worse makes me wish I had someone else’s life. First Ginny, then herpes, now Lucius and the betrayal I feel at Severus and Remus’ failure to tell me they knew my parents. Were they that bad? Were they murderers after all? Is it that fucking hard to say ‘I knew your parents’? I’ve known Severus and Remus for years now and I can’t help but feel like I don’t know the people I’m close to at all. Draco doesn‘t seem to know any more than I do, which worries me, and then I remember the veiled attempts on Remus’ part to warn me of his past. Does that mean that Draco is as much a victim in this as I am? I slip into the shower, dissecting some of the events of the past month, reminding myself that I have been foolish. Ginny is a perfect example of how little I know the people closest to me… The last fight we had comes to mind and I close my eyes, trying to understand how I was so blind. How could I be so blind to her intentions?

“Why did you leave?” I stare at my former lover, attempting to understand the rationale behind her actions. For three days, we have done nothing but argue about the past, and even a future that will never happen. Her version of the events leading to her departure is still confusing to me, but I try desperately to piece them together in order to remain calm and sane. 

Her normally shiny ginger hair is lank, and her face pale. I wonder if it is from stress or the level of alcohol I assume she has consumed. She has reeked of stale martinis and cocktails every time I have had the displeasure of seeing her this week. Since Saturday night, all she’s done is nag and attempt to make me feel like less of a person. I’m not falling into her traps any more. It’s always one more new attempt to goad me; I’m past the point of feeling drawn to her false tears and poor excuses. 

I’m glad that no one else is here to witness this; I can’t deal with the humiliation of her words filtering to the others again. 

“Harry, I was scared! You can’t expect me to be like you, because I’m not.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, Ginny? You just left; couldn’t you have at least said ‘I’m leaving? We’re through.’”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you any more than I already had and I knew looking at you every day, knowing that the baby was dead, would just make matters worse.” Her eyes glitter with wetness in the soft light of the setting sun. The fact that she has once again invaded the only place I have any peace from the world doesn’t matter at all to her. 

“So you would rather I just guess? Honestly, Gin, you shouldn’t have come back.”

“We’ve been together forever; do you care so little for what we had?”

“It’s not that I don’t care, but I can’t bring myself to continue wondering what I did wrong. I’m sorry those things happened to you, but we’re over.”

The tears stain her freckled cheeks and I feel nothing for it. I don’t feel any of the pity that I might have a few weeks ago and that brings me a certain sense of pride. She’s trying to bait me and I don’t want to play this game.

“I came back because I care, Harry. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not any more.”

“Why are you being so cold?”

“I’m being much kinder than you deserve. Like I said, I’m sorry that happened to you, but it’s no longer my responsibility – you’re no longer my responsibility.”

“You’re an asshole!” she screams, her voice piercing my ears and rattling my insides. “All of this is your fault, you know! All of it! If you had protected me, it never would have happened!”

“What?” I feel the disbelief hanging heavily in my mind as she leans against the wall, staring me down. “You’re a selfish bitch, Ginny, you know that? I said I was sorry! And all you care about is yourself! Did you stop and think about how you changed my life? Did you even care about infecting me and then running away? I have never lied to you and I have most certainly never blamed you when bad things happened! You’re madder than I thought if somehow this is my fault. I didn’t rape you! I tried to get you to stop working so much; I tried to keep you close by, but you weren’t having any of that! You wanted to live like a bloody queen, when we sure as hell didn’t have the money for that.” My voice breaks from all the yelling and I release the anger in one heavy breath before looking into her pathetic brown eyes. “After all this, I wonder if I know you at all!”

“You know me, Harry; you just don’t want to see me,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“You’re right; I don’t want to see you now or ever. You’ve made it clear that you have no concept of other people’s feelings and furthermore, you have no qualms about hurting people.”

“I’ve never tried to hurt you, Harry!”

“That’s bollocks and you know it. What was that little show you put on in front of your brother and the rest of the cast? ‘I’m glad I lost the baby, I’d hate to explain why its father was less than a man!’ Isn’t that what you said? I don’t need to be a man for you, Ginny. I don’t need to be anything for you, not any more.”

“So that’s it, then? You can walk away from six years?”

“YOU WALKED AWAY FIRST, GINNY! What part of that fact did you forget? I’m not playing this damn game with you. You packed your shit, you brought the key back, and now I’m selling the flat. I don’t want to live there any more – you have just… INFECTED everything.”

“And I’m sure that your new lover will gladly take you in,” she cries disdainfully, pacing the room. “I want half of the profits.”

“Dragon has nothing to do with this! I’m selling it so I’m not surrounded by memories of trying to please the most insufferable woman I’ve ever known. You’re worse than my Aunt Petunia; and I’m not giving you half, not when I spent nearly my entire trust on this place when you left!”

“Ah, your aunt, the saint of all saints,” she replies sarcastically. “Did she ever tell you your parents’ names, Harry? I bet she didn’t. Well I know their names, and at least I’m willing to tell you that much.”

“You’re full of it.” 

“I am? Lily and James Potter! You go ask your dear aunt, see what she says.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not afraid to answer the hard questions, that’s why.”

“Fuck you,” I growl. I feel the control drifting away the longer I listen to her raving. I don’t remember ever being this angry in my life. She stops pacing and looks at me with the kind of predatory gaze a tiger would pierce a rabbit with.

“I want one third of the profits! I’m not budging. I paid half the lease while you were out of work.”

“Just keep twisting the knife, why don’t you?”

“My pleasure, Harry.” The smile on her face is so wicked I think of a fairy tale witch, the bad guy, the reason you don’t let your kids out after dark. She’s so good at this game now. I remember so many arguments, so many ridiculous accusations of infidelity when I’ve never entertained such thoughts – this can only get worse. She approaches me with caution and for that, I’m glad. I back away, feeling my legs hit the edge of the couch. “Harry… I miss us. I still love you.”

“But I don’t love you.”

“Why? I’ve given you so much! How can you throw it all away?”

“I’m not in love with you – I don’t think I ever was.” It’s my turn to offer a low blow, although I regret it as I see the hurt in her eyes. “I spent more time catering to you than I did myself and now I feel it more than I ever did before. I see how little you cared for anything other than appearances and personal gain.”

“That’s not true!”

“So coming here and continually interrupting my rehearsals isn’t selfish? What about broadcasting our personal lives for everyone else to hear because you are too stupid to walk away? Just leave it! We are not going to get back together; we’re through!”

She reaches out to touch me and I move away from her, needing to get some space. “I think you should leave now.”

“Harry,” she whispers softly. “I needed you then, right after it happened. I just needed to feel like I was still alive, and that I wasn’t as dirty as he made me feel. Don’t fault me for trying.”

“I fault you because you couldn’t be honest with me. If you loved me, you would have tried. I wanted to get married, Ginny. I was going to propose to you, and you just up and left. Who was he? Do you even know?” I finally feel my resolve crumbling under the weight of this situation.

“He— His name is Zabini,” she says softly, her back to me.

“Did you file charges or anything?” She shakes her head and I feel everything moving in slow motion. “Why, Ginny? Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Because I was stupid!” she screams, her whole body visibly trembling. I get the feeling it’s all an excuse and that if I keep this going she will somehow find a way to convince me that it all never happened.

“You should leave now.”

“Fine! You can call me when the funds are ready,” she says and slams the door behind her. I feel my knees buckle and I sit on the sofa, trying not to let these new developments get the best of me. I wish I could see Draco. Even if I don’t know what to say, at least I would feel better near him. Goddamn her!

I pound my fist against the tiled wall, trying to make sense of things. The pain of skin and bone colliding against an unforgiving surface reminds me I’m still alive – breathing – even if the memories make me feel dead inside. Draco steps into the shower, his eyes half-lidded and docile, begging my attention as I feel the water stinging my back, attempting to wash away the memories of everything that has transpired. I never knew my life would become so complicated. In some ways I wish for the old days, the days when I dealt with Dudley’s abuse and could become nearly impervious to the shit storm around me. The death of my child, the birth of a new me, the betrayal at Severus’ hand, it’s all becoming too much. My body erupts into shivers as I wonder if there was anything I could have done to change the outcome. The ever-present ‘what if...’ plays through my head and I feel the grout begin to bury itself underneath my fingernails. It’s not my fault no matter what she says… It’s not my fault.

Without a word, Draco embraces me and I feel his soft, pale lips against my forehead. “Don’t cry, pretty bird.” 

I don’t know when the tears came, but he brushes them aside and kisses my cheeks one by one, reminding me that someone else is just as confused and possibly afraid as I am. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head in response. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to say anything, because talking about it will make the reality cold, and I don’t want to soil my moments with Draco by worrying too much. The longer he stares at me, the look in his eyes calls to something deep within me, and the strength I thought I had deteriorates faster than I care to admit. Something inside me calls to take his offering to unload the burdens in my soul, but all I can offer are many tears of sadness and anger. I reach for him before I know it and as the shower washes away the tears, I feel my soul becoming cleaner with each torrent. I don’t care that my nose is stuffy and I can barely breathe, because by the time I’m through, I feel better. Draco’s compassion floods me and as his fingers thread through my hair, calm drifts over me. Peace. Love. I can feel it radiating from him and wish I were strong enough to tell him how I feel – that I love him, that I’m in love with him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” he says with a smile. “You’re off the hook for now, but I really would like to know what’s bothering you. After we get cleaned up, I’ll make us some breakfast, all right?”

I choke on a laugh as I feel the weight shift, removing some of the guilt. Fears assuaged, I allow Draco to wash my body, carefully cleaning every inch of me. I return the favour, finding myself enthralled with the act; it’s such an intimate gesture, one I’m not sure how I lived without to this point. 

Once clean and dry, I follow Draco to the kitchen. I take my usual place and he puts on a pot of coffee. As he begins throwing together food for us, Sirius wakes and with a loud groan, interrupts the peaceful silence, scratching his stomach. 

“I never thought you two would go to sleep last night. You make enough noise to rouse the whole building.”

“Morning to you, too, Sirius,” I manage.

“So what’s the housewife cooking this morning?”

“Nothing if you don’t shut the hell up,” Draco growls. I hate seeing him this way. Here is the petulant child that made me weary of him at the beginning. 

“Christ, can you both just give it a rest? It’s too early to swap fucking barbs. Just shut it, Sirius, and Draco, stop acting like a child.” I am uncharacteristically irritated by the continued animosity between Draco and Sirius. Normally these things don’t get to me, but their constant bickering is rubbing my nerves raw. 

“Touchy,” Sirius replies, taking a seat. 

We sit in silence through the meal. I try to avoid Draco’s piercing gaze, afraid that it might pull out all of my secrets and lay them on the table for all to see. It’s not as though I’m hiding anything, but my past is my past and I’d prefer to not have to go into detail about my own abuse when his was so much more severe. The verbal assaults from my aunt and uncle are so much smaller in comparison to the physical ones that Draco received at his father’s hand. 

When the phone rings, we all jump, and Draco is on his feet quickly, running to the hallway. I assume that Remus and Severus are finally here by the curt reply on the phone. When he comes back to the kitchen, he affirms my assumption and now we wait. As I move to a more comfortable place to sit, my mind begins to conjure the possibilities of this meeting. What exactly will I learn that I am better off not knowing? 

I hear the chime of the lift in the foyer and remain still – trying not to think too much. I don’t know what I should brace myself for, good news or bad news. I have a feeling there will be a little bit of both, but for now, I will be patient and see what words Remus and Severus have to offer. 

“Have a seat.” I hear Severus’ voice booming in the silence, and Draco joins me on the sofa, his leg barely touching mine, but remaining close all the same. It brings me a certain sense of comfort to know that even in the presence of the men who took care of him for so long, he doesn’t mind showing some form of affection. Maybe it’s not affection, maybe it’s the need to show that he’s mine and I am his, regardless of the outcome of this conversation. Either way, I don’t mind it. I know he likes to be in control, even if he lacks a certain level of courage. 

“How did he find me?” Draco blurts out the moment the other two men take a seat. 

“It would seem that our inside man was successfully thrown off the scent by Lucius’ meddlesome assistant. Apparently, Mulciber was following Fenrir. When he realised that Fenrir had no intention of telling Lucius where you were, he took matters into his own hands.”

“Fenrir – who is Fenrir?” Draco demands. 

“Kindly allow me to explain, Draco. You were never so ill-mannered before you began to associate with Potter. He must be rubbing off--” Severus stops mid-sentence, his expression suggesting that he has just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “I may never rid myself of that appalling notion.”

“Severus, just explain it,” Remus says calmly, his voice an anchor against the fretful waves of unease welling within me. Fenrir is dead… Bill’s attitude makes sense now. With the death of a lover, his own mind isn’t as stable – and quitting the play now isn’t an option. We’re in for the long haul, all of us wondering what shadows are lurking in each corner now. Me, my shadows are of a veiled past that apparently Severus, Remus and Lucius Malfoy are all connected to. 

“Very well,” Severus intones, still wearing his sour expression. What he doesn’t know is I am feeling the same way toward him after Halloween and that awful costume he was wearing. “Fenrir was Bella’s lover, Draco. To our knowledge, he came, on Lucius’ orders, to find you. You know too much and he wants you silenced. Unfortunately, Fenrir’s job was to inform your father where you’ve been hiding all these years, but due to his failing loyalties, he decided to take matters into his own hands. We can only assume that he was seeking revenge against Mulciber for his involvement in Bella’s disappearance. Must I explain Mulciber’s connection further?”

“No, I’ve already told Harry about him,” Draco says, his face drawn tightly and his voice distant. It’s almost as though he isn’t here beside me, his leg barely touching mine, even though I can feel the heat emanating from him.

“We’ve also learned that Fenrir was the one trying to break into your apartment, Harry,” Remus says, stalling whatever else Severus is about to reveal. “We don’t know what he thought he would find, though.”

“How the fuck do you know all of this?” Draco asks, his body trembling and his voice angry. I can feel the tension seeping off him in steady pulses and wish that I could give comfort to him in some way. “Seriously, you don’t expect me to believe this is all some coincidence?”

“Stop acting like a child, Draco. You knew this would come eventually. This is why I told you stay away from Potter,” Severus says bitterly, his voice becoming the blade that cleaves my insides. I feel half of me ripping away as his eyes focus on me, and then return to Draco as though somehow that will make things better.

“What Severus is trying to say, Harry, Draco, is that we only wanted to protect you.”

“We don’t need a damn interpreter, Remus. And some protection you’ve offered,” Draco says sarcastically. “You have the worst drag queen in town serving as our bodyguard; what exactly are Sirius’ credentials, Severus?”

“Sirius works for a private security firm; he’s been keeping an eye on you for quite some time. You don’t think we would let you just run around with no one watching, did you? We had enough of a time keeping you out of trouble as it was.” I turn to look at Remus, letting his words fill me and then pushing them away. I still have questions I want answered, but they haven’t even broached the subject of my parents yet.

“So he will be back, then?” Draco asks, his attention toward the two men.

“We don’t know. We have someone on the inside, but I’m sure he won’t be fooled by Zabini’s—”

“Wait, what?” I interrupt. “Who is Zabini?”

I feel Draco tense beside me, his leg brushing against mine rigid with shock, and Remus looks at me as though I have just insulted his entire family. “Zabini, Blaise Zabini, he’s Lucius’ assistant.”

“That’s who Ginny said raped her,” I say, not believing any of the connections as they come together. What the fuck is going on? 

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Severus snaps.

“Ginny… She said she left because Zabini raped her. That’s why she lost the baby,” I reply, feeling my throat close and I fight for breath. It isn’t until I feel Draco’s hand on my leg, the warmth of his touch, that I look up, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. This is so fucked up. 

“Are you certain?” Severus asks, his voice demanding and more severe than I can handle. 

“She didn’t exactly give me details, but she said Zabini; I remember it perfectly, Severus.”

“This complicates things. When did this happen, Harry?” Remus asks. 

“Early August, some charity event; I stopped keeping up, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Remus offers, his voice soft and offering comfort. 

“How did you both know my parents? Lucius said you both knew them,” I whisper, nearly succumbing to the defeat of the current situation.

“We were all at university together,” Remus says. “Your parents were good people, Harry, and they both loved you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” I ask, trying to fumble for the words to express the disappointment and anger that is welling inside me. I feel the skin of my hands pull tight as I struggle to rein in the fire ready to burn my insides. 

“We thought—” Remus says, but stops when I corner him with my gaze.

“Let me guess, you were protecting me?”

Remus nods his head solemnly and I feel the anger rise. Severus’ face betrays nothing of what he is feeling or thinking, while I see the regret etched in the fine lines of his aging face. Draco’s hand tightens around my leg and some comfort washes over me, but not enough to erase the anger. 

I tune out the rest of the conversation, lost in my thoughts. What will happen now? Lucius doesn’t bother me – in fact, nothing really bothers me more than the lack of decency on the part of Remus and Severus. I trusted them, and now I regret it. I don’t know how long we sit and I ignore the conversation. Eventually, Draco taps me on the leg, offering a half-smile to gain my attention. I watch as Remus and Severus leave, but Sirius stays, perched on the edge of the couch. 

“You all right?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually Sirius leaves, allowing me some peace to digest everything going on. I don’t know how long before Draco returns, his warm hand settling on my shoulder. I feel so weary, part of me denied one of the most basic needs. They knew my parents and never even offered any pieces to the puzzle of my life. 

“Severus said we will have escorts, just in case Lucius tries anything.”

“I don’t want a fucking escort; I’m not a child.”

“Regardless, it’s already being arranged,” Draco says, the tone of his voice rather haughty, grating on my nerves.

“Draco, I don’t need anyone to protect me, least of all some security guard.”

“It’s for your protection.”

“From what? Some lunatic? No, thanks.”

“Why are you being like this?” His voice pleads with the kind of desperation that sends shivers down my spine. The tone tickles my senses, but through the frustration, I can’t let it subdue me. I’m angry; I have every right to be. I don’t want this to become about him when it’s about me and the way I feel. 

I can’t be here right now. This is just too much, and Draco telling me what I will do irks me. Where the hell does he get off expecting me to just accept things as they are? I was fine when I didn’t know anything, so what, now I’m more vulnerable than before? It’s nothing new. Once again I feel like I’m not in control of my own life. First it was Ginny controlling everything, and now Draco has taken it upon himself to make a decision for me. 

“I’ll be back, Draco. I need some time to just… think about things.”

I barely hear his reply as I storm to the lift, a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings tugging at my insides. It isn’t until I arrive on the main floor that I remember my car isn’t here. 

“Fuck!” My voice echoes through the garage and surrounds me before slowly dissipating. Every time I think things are just starting to settle down in my life, something else happens to derail the “natural” order of things. Feeling the need to escape, if only for a few moments, I head out onto the main road, letting the sounds of the living city distract me. The angry motors of the cars rushing by easily pulls my attention, letting my subconscious take over thought. I don’t know how long I walk, feeling the rigid pavement beneath my feet. I remind myself that it doesn’t give with the pressure of my worried steps and that flexibility in all things is important. It isn’t until Mother Nature’s breath begins to nip at my skin harshly that I realise I’m not wearing a jacket, and that the way I left Draco was quite foolish. He’s only trying to look out for me in his own way. The thought brings warmth to my body that I don’t expect and my heart flutters with a sudden realisation; he cares about me. Okay, I know he cares, but it runs deeper than I first thought. To be honest, it’s a bit of a relief to know that he cares that much. He could have just said to piss off, rather than making the decision for me. He also could have ended it, rather than sticking by me, which is by far a better showing than even Ginny attempted after six years of being together. 

I don’t blame Draco for any of this. It isn’t his fault and it sure as hell isn’t mine. We are just unfortunate enough to have intrigue around us, surrounding us in the most damning of ways. I don’t know that I care any more, so long as Lucius doesn’t try anything; I care about Draco too much to let that man hurt him. Heading back to Slytherin Tower, I remind myself that this isn’t just about me, it’s about both of us. 

When I arrive, Draco allows me to warm up, not asking for any explanations, just accepting that I am here. I think I have made up my mind. 

Moving in is probably a good idea, especially since I don’t do a lot outside of working and occasionally going to work out at the dojo. With my mind made up, I feel a little more at ease. Sitting beside Draco, I take his hand in mine, relishing in the simplicity of the touch. 

“Feel better?” Draco asks, his head falling to my shoulder with all the ease and comfort of a long established relationship. So technically, we have experienced our first row and didn’t hate each other, scream obscenities or have brutal make up sex. 

“Mmmhm,” I respond, feeling his fingers dance along my chilled skin. I don’t know how long I bask in the glow of his gentle caresses before the courage to tell him decision finally comes. “Hey, can you take me to the flat? My car is at the theatre.” 

“For what?” he whinges.

“Packing.”

He turns to look at me and I smile, broadly displaying my obvious want to be with him. If he can’t see it written in my features, the way my heart swells at every touch and each caress, then he needs to look again. 

“So does that mean you’re moving in?”

I nod slowly and he kisses me. The kiss is needy and moist, pulling every emotion from me like a magnet; our polar opposites become cemented together with every curl of our wet tongues. Knowing that prolonging the kiss will prevent any actual work from being done, I pull away first. Sweet, hot breath ghosts against my cheeks; it’s as though this moment steals time just for us, displaying the fruits of hardship in its most raw form. Here is a man who has suffered; yet, we suffer, and now, grow together. 

*****

On the pedestal of hope lies a wonderful monument to all that is beautiful. Inside me, the reservations about many things ebb away the longer I am with Draco, immersing myself within him, and he, within me. It has been a truly brilliant ride. Each step forward creates a new and exciting scenario that I wish will never end. It took me about a week to fully move in at the penthouse, but I haven’t wished to be anywhere else. Things have been quiet, although Severus keeps both eyes on me at all times and the fear that the “bodyguards” would be visible was completely unfounded. While I never see whoever is watching me, I always feel their eyes on me, glowing brightly in the darkness as I crawl into bed, waiting for Draco’s return. 

While I am still growing accustomed to his ways, we are working with each other, rather than against. I have never been particularly neat, but Draco can’t stand things to be out of order and I try my best to maintain his standards. It doesn’t bother me that he’s a neat freak; it just means I have to be more careful with my own slovenly habits. 

I have yet to work up the courage to seek any more answers from Remus or Severus, instead delaying the disappointment I expect. Their answers will not come, not as I need them, and I will wait patiently for the day when asking doesn’t fill me with anxiety. 

As I’m changing from my costume, Severus enters the dressing room, his face its normal thin line of pride. 

“Potter, I want you to meet someone. Lucius’ untimely arrival delayed this, but fortunately for you, they had the time to spare as certain matters were taken care of. Come with me.”

Inside Severus’ office, a tall man with long white hair sits in one of the old leather chairs with brass fittings around the edges. His shirt, bright green with a beach scene spanning the chest, is covered by his beard, which seems to reach the floor. It doesn’t, in fact, touch the floor, but it is long, enclosed by a small thong, keeping the wiry hair out of the way. His nose is large, and a pair of half-moon spectacles rests on his aged face. Behind the lenses of his crescent eyeglasses, a pair of disarming blue eyes twinkle with knowledge. 

“This is Albus Dumbledore, Harry. Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter.”

I extend my hand to the older man as he stands, and he takes it with a firm grasp that belies his age. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Harry. I tried to make your acquaintance after ‘Little Shop of Horrors’, but Petes… or was it Peaks? No matter, he wouldn’t allow me to speak with you.”

“Peaks, yes, he was rather obsessive about anyone disturbing his actors.”

“Gumdrop?”

“Er, sorry?” His sudden change of subject is confusing. It isn't until I see his hand outstretched with the sweet that I realise what he is asking me.

“Would you like a gumdrop?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“More for me, I suppose.” The man turns abruptly and begins inspecting the framed certificates on Severus’ walls. “I remember this, Severus. You were quite the genius—”

“Why don’t you let Mr Potter know why you are here? I’m sure he’s ready to get home to his other half,” says Severus, putting an end to the older man’s retrospection. 

“Ah, young love. I remember when I first met Minerva. Feisty one, she is. Is your lady anything like that?”

I choke slightly at his wording, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and trepidation of revealing my lifestyle to this older gentleman. A giddy smile tickles my cheeks before answering, “Well, he won’t be home yet. And yes, he is quite feisty, as you put it.”

“Excellent! Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the reason I am here, Harry, is I would like to make you an offer.”

“Offer? What kind of offer?”

“For a job, of course!” he says, turning with a strange flourish. The movement reminds me of Severus and I wonder how well these two men know one another.

“What job?”

“I own a small production company and we work on mainly independent films, but sometimes we take up larger projects. After the New Year, we plan to start working on a few remakes. It’s nothing big, mind, but we always need good actors; I pride myself on finding talented young men and women to fill the roles. I’m impressed with what I see so far and would like to do a screen test.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me; Severus called me and promised I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

The cynical side of me thinks that Severus is trying to make up for his betrayal. It’s been a month since opening night; it’s been a month since things became more complicated and more delightful than I could have ever imagined. I never really put much thought into working on films, but here an offer is, and I’m not sure I want to refuse it. 

“Did he?” I ask, watching the director squirm uncomfortably. “Thank you, Severus, that was too kind of you.” The expression on Severus’ face proves that our cordial exchanges are merely for the benefit of this fellow, Albus Dumbledore. 

“Think nothing of it, Potter,” offers Severus, his voice cool, reminiscent of a glass of tepid whisky. 

“At any rate, I imagine you will have some time to think on it. I will come and speak with you again, Harry. How about at the after party? You can introduce me to this feisty other half of yours.”

“Sounds good, sir; it’s been a pleasure.”

“Oh, dear boy, the pleasure was all mine. Until December!” he calls, leaving me facing Severus with curiosity. 

“I have a lot of things to do, Potter, so unless you plan to stare at me all evening, do remove yourself from my office.”

I don’t want to spend any more time around Severus than need be, but a bitter thought comes to mind as I stare at the older man before me, his hooked nose jutting downward like the beak of a bird. “I just have one question; did he know my parents as well?”

“Potter, despite your—”

“Save it. I’m tired of hearing the same excuse. I’m going to assume he does and just remind myself that you are ‘protecting me’. Whatever that means…” 

As I walk away, I feel pressure in my knees and the sound of my hard, hollow steps echo through dark the hallway. I remind myself that people have different motivations and I apparently am the only person who isn’t completely self-serving. I know that isn’t true, but that’s how I feel. After settling all my debts with various creditors, there was enough money left over to get my car fixed. I don’t even remember what was wrong now, but at least it runs. I settle into the driver’s seat and head over to see Draco. I don’t intend to stay long, but I need his reassurances more than ever, right now. I’ve settled nearly every debt, including my university tuition. The only debt I have left to pay is the guilt money that will go to Ginny. Once sold, I can kiss the memories of what would have been goodbye, and never have to think about that damned flat again. 

Before Draco leaves for the evening, he gives me a big kiss, congratulating me. While I have the feeling that things will work out, it doesn’t stop the fear that things won’t. That quirky man, Albus Dumbledore, seems to be another missing piece of the past I never had. How he ties in, I will never know. 

I wake up when Draco comes home, feeling his warmth against me. It gives me time to talk about the possibilities and since he isn’t tired yet, he listens, letting me clear my mind of all the thoughts plaguing me. While I keep most of them to myself, worrying that it will push him away, he offers continuous support. 

“Are you scared?”

“Not really; it’ll be a new experience. I just don’t like all of the publicity.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know; I don’t feel like I deserve it, I suppose.”

“Well, you’re brilliant. Any attention you get is well deserved.”

*****

“Draco!” Pansy calls, running to hug him tight. I watch as the woman with a pug nose smiles and pulls away from my lover. “Where the hell have you been?”

Draco smiles. “Pans, you remember Harry, don’t you?”

“Harry, good to see you again; we were starting to wonder exactly where you had gotten off to.”

“Draco keeps me quite busy,” I say, returning her friendly smile. 

Her brow drops and her expression shifts for a moment, and realisation seems to dawn. “Ah! You are the one Draco was talking about at lunch! Draco, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“It wasn’t official, besides, it was up to Harry to be comfortable with everything first.”

“Well, does this mean you are here to share your story with us, Harry?”

I nod. Pansy and Draco spend a little time catching up as I sit waiting for the others. Before long, they all crowd into the small room and everyone settles. Pansy takes control of the group without hesitance and allows me the opportunity to share my story. I don’t feel the need to share the pregnancy or that I was with a woman previously. Those details are purely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Oliver isn’t glaring daggers at me any more; instead, he appears to watch Draco with a silent longing that I can only empathise with. In a way, I long to open myself to him completely, but I haven’t found the courage to do so yet. Not when there are so many other things worrying me: the play, Lucius and my parents. 

“So how do you feel about everything, Harry?” Pansy asks, her voice the epitome of concern. 

“At first I was devastated; it honestly took me a while to get a clear hold on everything.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m content; if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have met Draco.”

I feel his hand on my leg and turn to see an encouraging smile that lights up his entire face. His silvery eyes dance with the kind of happiness that wilts all fear and doubt within me. From now on, I can remember The Burrow Recreation Centre as a place that opened a new chapter in my life, despite the complicated circumstances that brought me here. Aside from my lingering irritation with Severus, I am truly content. 

“Well, I’m sure the rest of the group will join me in congratulating you both on your budding romance. It is always a good feeling to see those affected by herpes to find their ‘happily ever after’ as it were; now, that said, don’t wait so long to come back next time, all right?” Pansy replies, her gaze trained on both Draco and me. 

I offer her a brief smile in response, feeling a weight lift from my consciousness. 

The meeting passes by quickly, for which I am grateful. I have a feeling that Wood will take a moment to say something to both of us or ignore me like the last time. As we prepare to leave, someone calls my name; I turn to face Wood, his face unreadable.

“Look, I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to be a prick.”

“No problem, Oliver,” I say, extending my hand in friendship. For a moment, I wonder if he will accept my offering; when he does, I feel immensely stronger. 

“Drinks sometime?”

“You bet, Harry,” he replies, his unidentifiable features softening. “See you around.”

As we walk to the car, I notice Sirius for the first time in ages. He nods his head as my sights remain on him, and that sinking feeling of impending doom settles itself within my stomach; there is only a month left of the play. I try not to fret on the things to come, not when I know there are so many good things right now. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Draco asks, opening my car door.

“Nothing,” I riposte, “Sirius is watching. He’s about four cars back.”

“Prick.”

“Why don’t you two get along?”

“He didn’t like what I had to say about his routine once.”

“Ah, well, that explains it,” I offer sarcastically. 

Draco laughs, the kind that draws all of my attention. I feel the heat of desire begin to burn my insides as we drive to the safety of the penthouse. As I reach for a bottle of water from the refrigerator, I feel Draco’s own need pressing into me. During the weekends, it’s hard for us to coordinate schedules and have any time together, but it’s still early and it seems we both have the same ideas of how to use the available time before he opens the club. 

In his arms, I feel the outside world fade away and tip my lips against his tentatively. When he demands more than shy kisses, I give in, moulding to him, around him. I love this; I love him and it grows stronger with each passing day. His tongue knows exactly how to tease me into submission, willing the moments to become clouded with pleasure. 

“I want to try something new,” Draco says, pulling away. “You still trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I manage between moans. His hungry mouth dances across my skin, leaving wet, wonderfully wet, kisses. His skilful fingers are eagerly working their way beneath the barriers to my skin. Each touch is a wonder and somehow we end up against the wall of the sitting room, the sunlight caressing our skin gently. I feel my exposed back press against the glass, its warmth rolling across me. He turns me around, shoving me into the clear pane. I feel a shiver of excitement as I look down over the city, watching as people pass by, unawares of the activity above them. 

“Spread your legs,” he demands, exciting me more.

Smack!

“Ow, what was that for?” I ask, turning to see a feral glint in his liquid-silver eyes. 

“I told you I wanted to try something new,” he says, his hand connecting with the sensitive and so very excitable flesh of my bum. “Now turn around and face the window.”

I comply easily, longing to feel the absolute pleasure of his cock buried within me. But he isn’t done playing yet. I feel his powerful hand connect again, feeling my knees weaken against the thrill of his touches. I can feel my face hot with desire, enjoying his playful antics. 

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day I met you, Harry. I’ve wanted to fuck you against the wall and hear you beg for more.”

“Yes!”

Deep down, part of me wants to be possessed by Draco; his expert exploration of my body proves that he is attentive to my needs and it just makes every touch more exciting. I feel it in the way his rubs the fiery marks away from my skin, down to the way he trails his tongue against my opening, tasting of me. 

I don’t know how it all began, but I feel him pressing in, inch by inch, until my knees quake with the intensity of his touches. He moves slowly, with shallow strokes that leave me babbling for more. It doesn’t hurt when my cock presses against the glass, but it has a raw friction that only eases when pre-come begins to weep from the tip. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands on my hips, moving deeper with each steady stroke. I don’t want to beg, not yet; not when every rock of his hips against me feels incredible. Lips, tongue and fullness possess me. He speeds up, his body undulating against mine, and then he halts, his body jerking against mine in blissful rapture. I hear my name grace his lips, making me shiver. My knees, already weak from his blessed possession of my entire being, begin to buckle when he pulls out. I feel him turn me, my back pressing against the glass, mind hazy with lust. 

He drops to his knees, licking, sucking and otherwise demanding I pay homage to his efforts. His fingers enter me, slowly fucking me, teasing that spot within that makes everything become like fireworks behind my eyelids. He moans, sending vibrations through me until I can’t take it any more. All of his movements are perfect until I am falling. The glass reverberates angrily as my hands slam against it. Watching as Draco laps at everything that I have to offer is heavenly. If I weren’t against the glass, I would sink to the floor; instead, I let the sensations take over, drifting in the calming madness. 

We shower and clean one another – I will never get enough of this – and Draco dresses for the club. It’s getting close to dinnertime; the sun is beginning to fade into sleep and soon Draco will leave me in this vast penthouse alone. 

“What do you feel like eating?” he asks as he buttons his shirt. “We could get Chinese or Italian…”

“I can just cook something when you leave,” I say absently, drying off. 

“Let me take you out.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Throw me my pants, will you?”

A pair of trousers sails through the air and I catch them with a laugh.

“What?”

“These are my trousers, Draco.”

“Pants are...?”

“My underclothes. Boxers, you call them underwear?”

“Oh!” he says, throwing me a pair of soft boxers. After dressing, I run my hand through my hair and he looks at me, his eyes set. I can see the question blazing in their silvery depths. “So what it with you and money?”

“Until I sell the flat, I just don’t have a lot. We haven’t even talked about splitting the mortgage, nothing. I feel like I’m leeching.”

“You’re not. I’d let you know if I felt that way.”

“I don’t want to be a charity case, Draco. My aunt and uncle reminded me that I was enough, all right?”

“Harry,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. “I don’t think you are a charity case. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t ask.” A soft kiss and his fingers through my hair make me feel like a cat, wanting all of his attention. 

“It’s just, my aunt and uncle, they always made it seem like it was my fault I was with them. They starved me most of the time… I still get weird about it, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m taking you out tonight. Will you come to the club for a bit?”

“Yeah.” 

“Anything else bothering you?”

I shake my head, not wanting to talk about Severus. 

“Harry? You’ve been moping for almost two weeks now. What’s the matter?”

“It’s just—” I start, not wanting to be vulnerable. I know it’s pointless; he isn’t going to leave me alone until I answer him. “I’m still pissed off at Severus. Obviously, there are things going on in the outside world, but he could have said something. I’ve only known those horrible relatives of mine, and— and I feel like any connection to my parents is better than none at all.”

“He’s a grouchy son-of-a-bitch, you know that. I don’t honestly think he intended to hurt you. He’s mean, but he’s not heartless. I’m sure there’s a reason for it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I lived with him for two years.”

“I don’t know, Draco. It just pisses me off, you know?”

“Trust me, I know. Come on, let’s get some food; I’m starving.” In the lift, he kisses me again, his lips tasting like cinnamon. “And the mortgage is covered, Harry. Just enjoy being with me, OK? I’ve never had something like this and I don’t want money to come between us.”

Do I deserve this?

“You ever been in love?” I ask, a slight sense of jealousy filling me. Do I want him to say that he’s in love with me? I wonder if he is… If I weren’t so stupid, I would just ask; I would demand to know how he feels. While words are hollow from most people, I hang on each of Draco’s, listening intently when he finds the need to speak. He isn’t nearly as verbose as I am, but I find it nice. He doesn’t feel the need to say anything unless it’s real. He doesn’t waste words when actions are much easier; I find myself respecting that. 

“Once,” he replies. “You?”

“Yeah, once.” I leave it at that. The words hang in the air and I wonder how he will take that. Will he take it as I mean it, directing all of my emotions toward him? While I don’t want to say it yet, it’s there, lingering close by. 

“How does the group at The Burrow know your name?”

“Pansy recognised me from the moment I walked in the door. Half the group was already there by the time I stepped inside; I remember explaining to them that I just wanted a private life and that it would be best if they didn’t mention knowing me. They all agreed, naturally, but I was worried that somehow it would get back to Lucius.”

“So you trust them?”

“Implicitly”

“Do you think any of them told your father?”

“No. I don’t think they would be that stupid. I believe what Severus said.”

The silence descends again. It isn’t heavy, instead weightless with promises of so many things to come; it's a feeling of comfort... No words need to be spoken to fill the void.

I follow Draco to the restaurant of his choice and after a fantastic meal, we head to the club; I plan to leave early, but I don’t mind spending the extra time with him. After a few drinks, we dance, melting into one another, just feeling, and it feels sublime. 

There have been no more tears, only an abundance of laughter and it feels free. I can only go up…


	28. Bang Bang

Chapter 28: Bang Bang  
Harry’s POV – Saturday - 23 December 2005

 

Bang. Bang.

The corks of perfect green bottles of champagne clatter to the floor bluntly as crystal flutes make their way to the hands of the cast and crew of ‘The Jocker’. Over Thanksgiving at Severus and Remus’ home – a holiday that I will never understand – Draco offered to hold the after party at Dragon’s Tail. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, my first Christmas with Draco and my new life. When I first received the materials from Severus, I was worried and a little scared about taking on a role like this; it’s not everyday that you begin to see all that you held close and knew as a comfort zone was pretty much a personal lie, a way to cope with a piss-poor situation. I never really thought that I would enjoy being what I am now: a man in love with another man. Whether that makes me gay or not, who knows? But I am content with the knowledge that I thoroughly enjoy the relationship I have with Draco. Maybe it’s just him that makes me feel that way. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case – people are people and we were obviously brought together for a reason. 

From across the room, he’s eyeing me with the only predatory gaze I ever want to see. I can see the ravenous lines of passion flitting about like fairies between the veils of day and night. From here, I can see the outline of his chest in the silver button-down as it clings to his body like a second skin. The black trousers hang low on his hips; the bottom panels of the shirt lie open with invitation. Only for me, though, I remind myself as he brings the sparking glass to his lips, savouring the dew-sweet champagne within. I must be mad to be completely turned on by the sight of him. His lips glisten with the alcohol, and I want to close the distance between us to taste of him. Loud laughter draws my attention away from Draco’s pale pink lips and I take in my surroundings for the first time since I arrived. There are a lot of people here that I don’t know, and Draco is keeping his distance for the moment. I suppose it’s in his best interest to keep everyone happy and the drinks coming. Severus and Remus are speaking with Albus Dumbledore and an older woman with greying hair pulled in a tight bun. 

On the walls hang various props from the show, including our costumes. There are various pieces of old filmstrips strung along the long expanses, glittering malevolently each time light passes over them. Their dull browns and blacks reflect beautifully, only interrupted by those passing by. Upstairs on the balcony, there are tall, black dividers decorated with photos and bits of paper. There are many photos of Bill and I together and individually, along with the others with little facts about the show. There are also short biographies for each of us. Alone, I make my way upstairs. My mind is alive with thought, questions that remain unanswered, but also the nervous energy associated with my feelings for Draco. Every time I look at him lately, I get this bubble in my chest that seems to expand painfully until I touch him, or kiss him. I wish I understood this turn of events. I’m not going to question it, though, not when I like it so much. I’m in love. Tomorrow, I will tell him tomorrow.

As I scan the photos, a feeling wells in me that hasn’t reared its ugly head in a few years. Pride begins to grow in me, but it’s shadowed by the reminder that my parents aren’t here to see this. I wonder how they would feel about Draco and I. Would they be accepting? It’s a lot to think about sometimes, but I want to believe that they would be proud of me no matter what. 

“You look just like your father in that photo.” 

I turn to see Albus Dumbledore and the severe-looking woman he was with downstairs. His white hair is hanging loosely around his aged face. A colourfully loud button-down hangs from his proud shoulders, and his beard covers most of it in strange ringlets. At his age, I suppose it’s easier to wear whatever makes you comfortable and if anything, he does seem comfortable. 

“But you have your mother’s eyes,” she says, extending her hand. “Minerva McGonagall. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr Potter.” I feel her warm, dry hand around mine, and think of a grandmother, someone caring and full of intrigue from her many years of life. What secrets she must know! Her voice matches her face, stern and deliberate. Her dress is like a Scottish tartan, red, black, and green plaid in elegant waves. Her eyes and intentions hide behind a pair of golden wire-rimmed spectacles. 

“You knew them?” I ask, feeling suddenly choked by the words lodged in my throat. The only thing that freely comes are the thoughts of my parents again and Severus’ betrayal. I have my mother’s eyes… I close my eyes for a moment and try to remember their faces, but the details are a blur, my recall abilities impaired by hope and anger. 

“Of course, my dear boy. Severus never told you?” Albus’ face is soft; his eyes twinkle with mirth, much like the first time I met him. 

“No, sir.”

The woman, Minerva, tuts and turns to look at Dumbledore. “Albus! Don’t make him guess; tell him what he wants to know.”

“Quite right, Minerva,” Albus says and motions toward one of the sofas. “Have a seat, Harry.”

I nod, knowing that words will fail me. My hands are more interesting than the man and woman sitting on either side of me. 

“Never let anyone tell you that Lily and James Potter weren’t good, kind or caring people. They sacrificed a lot of themselves for the sake of others, you included. While I don’t know the details surrounding their death, they were both noble and intelligent. I met them at a party at Hufflepuff Gardens some years ago. They were with Mr Tom Riddle, the governor at the time. It was a celebration of new artists and seemed to be a revival of an old way of life; a time when things were simpler and joy was found in art and on the stage rather than television. 

“I think James fancied himself a bit of an amateur thespian. He and your mother fell in love in school, from what I understand. They kept to themselves, always offering assistance when needed. I haven’t ever known people as self-sacrificing as they were. I don’t know what they did for a living, but I assume it was something to do with the political world since they were always around Mr Riddle.”

“We didn’t see them much when they moved back to England, but they kept in touch. It was a sad day when we heard they’d died. Lily sent us a photo of you right after you were born; it was nice to see their first son. It’s a shame they didn’t live long enough to have more. We’d hoped to meet you long before now, but it wasn’t until Severus phoned that we knew you had survived them,” Minerva says, her eyes softening at the memories. 

“Have you thought about doing the screen test at all?” Dumbledore asks. Whether he intentionally changes subjects when things grow uncomfortable, I will never know. I don’t see myself asking him his reasons, especially when he seems to know exactly what to say at the right time. If I didn’t know any better, he is reading my mind, making it impossible to hide my true feelings. And for some reason, I don’t want to. 

“I have. I think I’d like to. Can’t hurt to try something new, can it?”

“That’s a good way to think about it. You know, I used to own Moste Potente Productions. Severus bought it from me when I moved on to films.”

“How do you know Severus?”

“He was an actor, once upon a time, just like you. Young and ambitious, if I remember correctly, always the perfectionist.”

“That sounds about right,” I reply. Fondness for the man who enjoys tormenting me cements itself within me; a deeper connection through Albus and Minerva’s acquaintance with my parents and Severus seems to flourish the longer I am in their company. “Would either of you like a drink?”

“Please. Minerva will have a glass of white wine and I’d like to one of the Unforgiveables. Interesting name for a drink; do you know what they mean?”

“No. Tonks, the manager created them. Do you have a preference?”

“Any should do.”

I find these two easy to trust, feeling comforted by their presence in a way I can’t explain. It’s the same with Draco, and I’m assuming it’s just the aura that surrounds them. Thankfully, the bar on the balcony is open. Returning with their drinks in hand, I feel like it’s important to thank them, not only for the opportunities they’re offering me, but also for their kind words about my parents. While it isn’t the most in depth information, I feel closer to them. “Thank you both—”

“Harry, you up here?” Draco’s voice cuts me off. Hearing his voice makes me feel even more at ease, the kind of peace that reminds me no matter how shitty things can get, there are real reasons to be happy. The smile on his face sends a rush of contentment through me and I wish it were Christmas already. 

“Hey, you,” I respond, feeling the urge to stand and kiss him. “I want you to meet someone. Mr Dumbledore, this is Dragon, my feisty other half.”

“Please, call me Albus.”

“Right, Albus, this is Dragon.”

“It’s nice to meet you, young man. How do you feel about Harry doing a screen test?”

“I think it’s great. He’s a good actor; he deserves to share his talents with the world. When will it be?”

I feel a blush creeping over my cheeks at his words. I’m not used to praise in any capacity and from Draco, it means that much more. 

“It’s scheduled for twenty-fifth of January. Harry will need to come to the studios in New York and then if the director likes him, they’re off to London.”

“Sounds good, Harry. You haven’t been to England in a long time.”

“How did you meet?” Minerva asks, sipping her wine. Her gaze is centred on Draco, rather than me, and part of me wonders why she is asking him. 

“Severus threw him in the pond and expected him to learn how to swim,” Draco replies with a smile. “Harry had no experience with a man as a lover before this production began, and Severus sent him to me.”

“What exactly were you supposed to do?”

“Teach him how to be gay, naturally.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up together?”

I’m becoming weary of Minerva and all her questions. This is already slightly embarrassing. I don’t want to listen to Draco tell them all about the development of our relationship. I take a long sip of my drink, wishing it to wash away the redness in my cheeks and cool the warmth rising from my stomach. 

“To make a long story short, I found that I quite enjoyed his company, even if he’s a peacock,” I reply, hiding behind my nearly empty glass. 

“It wasn’t that simple, but yes, to make a long story short. It was hard not to want to be around him,” Draco replies with a wink.

“Wait, so if you’d never had any experience with men, why did you choose to stay with Dragon?”

“If Severus hadn’t asked me to kiss him, I might have been able to resist.”

“I’m sure Dragon would disagree, wouldn’t you?”

He smiles knowingly. “He might have tried to resist, but I usually get what I want,” Draco says haughtily. 

Minerva and Albus laugh at his audacity, but I find myself feeling uncomfortable at his bluntness. I quickly finish the remaining liquid in my glass, nearly choking on the concentrated spirits floating in the ice. 

“And you own this club, Dragon?”

“Yes. Severus helped me set it up, the grumpy bastard.”

“Did he?” Minerva says, chuckling. 

I stand to get a new drink, trying to avoid any more of Draco’s embarrassing tales. At the bar, I get a few shots and knock them back quickly, just enjoying the freedom that the end of this show has brought to me. I feel so secure in how things are, a feeling I never had with Ginny, and it’s liberating. I return with a new cocktail only to have Draco stand and look at Albus and Minerva with a grin I know all too well. 

“You don’t mind if I steal him away for a bit, do you?” Draco asks the older couple.

“By all means,” Albus says and they stand, following us down to the main floor. As if on cue, the music begins in full swing, allowing us our own world of rhythm and suggestive lyrics. As we move together, I feel the alcohol coursing through my veins like liquid fire. The pit of uncertainty has returned to my stomach, that feeling that something big is going to happen. I close my eyes and allow Draco’s hands to explore me, forgetting about the gnawing in my gut. Instead, I enjoy his gentle hands, remembering how they flood me with desire at each touch and wish that the night were over. I’d rather be in his office, making use of the couch, or turning his desk into another place that brings a mischievous smile to his lips. I feel the soft caress of his lips against mine and allow the attraction to connect us, offering soft, playful kisses to start. His tongue teases my lips and without thinking, I allow myself to be consumed by him. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Draco says breathy against my ear, tickling my neck. “Now!” The insistence in his voice sends a jolt of electricity through my body, making me feel the erection I successfully ignored until I felt his lips against mine. I need him right now as much as he needs me, and it feels incredible. 

I follow him, trailing behind, nearly tripping on my feet as we approach the office. He unlocks the door and as soon as I’m inside, he pushes me against the door, devouring my mouth. It’s so sloppy, but I want more. His tongue trails along my chin, biting, and demanding my approval. His fingers work quickly, unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it to the floor. His fingers fumble a bit with my trousers, but I barely notice with his lips and tongue doing wicked things to my neck and chest. 

He shoves my trousers and pants to the floor, gripping my cock tightly, and I feel the shiver of desire as it races through us. He leans in, his breath ghosting across my ear, and he whispers with a predatory growl, “I’m going to come all over you.”

I feel the moan of complete adoration and he claims my lips again, rubbing against me. The fabric of his trousers is soft, but I want his skin; I want to feel him against me. His tongue travels down my chest, his teeth claiming my nipple roughly, drawing more moans of pleasure from me. Every place that his tongue touches prickles with want until his lips wrap around my cock and his tongue darts against the head. He takes me in, and I feel the back of his throat briefly before he pulls away again, teasing me. His mouth is so hot and wet, and I want to come. I want to come and watch as he drinks all I have to give. He releases me, leaving me wanting more. 

“Get the rest of your clothes off and put your hands on the desk,” he says. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. I’m so ready to feel him that I kick my oxfords off and pull my socks as I go, bending over suggestively. I look over my shoulder, watching as he undresses, his fingers lingering on his nipples. When his pants and trousers hit the floor, he slowly strokes his cock, and I moan again, watching as his long fingers encase his thickness. He’s so fucking beautiful. 

He presses his body against mine, the flat of his chest and stomach brushing against my skin as he plants kisses along my back. He bites along my ribs and I feel myself opening and closing in anticipation for his entry. His fingers knead my bum and then his touch is gone. I feel him pressing into my opening, but he doesn’t move; instead, his fingers wrap around my cock, slowly stroking me. There are no words between us, just the understanding that we need one another and he speeds up, varying the movements until I come, crying his name in ecstatic glee. Euphoria descends upon me, and I feel his feet pushing my legs apart as I brace myself against the heavy furniture. I feel him use my come, working it inside me, and then he fills me. His thrusts are brutal, but I love every second of it, feeling my body tense and relax as he slows, then goes deeper. 

I always get lost in this feeling. The swift, harsh strokes send spikes of pleasure through me and before I can utter a word, the heat of desire leaves a pile of ash and embers in its wake. Utterly spent, my knees quiver and Draco withdraws, a hand digging into my hip painfully as I feel him paint my skin. His grunts are loud and if I had anything left to give, it would be his. Feeling sated and spent, Draco whispers my name with his forehead against my shoulder, and I turn to embrace him. We’re a mess, but I don’t care. Beads of perspiration gather above his lips and I kiss it away, loving the smell of come and sweat around us. 

“You ready to go back to the real world?” he asks softly.

“No, but we can.”

“Come on, I didn’t get a proper dance,” he says sweetly. I love how he can fuck me silly and then make me feel like the wind is carrying thousands of leaves inside my stomach.

After cleaning up and dressing, we rejoin the throng of people. We ignore the looks of the people around us, living in the moment, embracing the simplicity of being so close together. I lazily close my eyes, ready to go home. I have never been fond of these parties; they are only a way for actors to make new contacts, and since Severus has already done that for me, I see no reason to hang around. If Draco wasn’t here for the public image, I’m sure I’d talk him into leaving. I feel Draco’s heart beating heavily and that pit in my stomach grows. I try to ignore it, but it keeps getting heavier until I open my eyes and see a flash of silvery-blond hair in the crowd. I stop dancing and release my hold on Draco as an icy numbness creeps through me. No! Not tonight!

“What’s the matter?”

“We need to leave.” I hope he can hear the urgency in my voice, but with the music so loud, I have no idea. 

“Why?”

“Trust me, we need to go,” I say, grabbing his hand. “We need to find Severus.”

As I turn, I run into a man with dark skin. He’s no taller than I am, but he doesn’t look like he intends to move. 

“What the fuck?” Draco says, his voice full of venom. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Draco. It’s been a long time.”

I look at Draco, his face his contorted in anger. “What are you doing here, Blaise?”

Blaise? Blaise Zabini? I feel my anger growing as realisation settles over me. This is the son-of-a-bitch that raped Ginny, he’s the reason my child is dead. I feel my fist connect with his face, and he stumbles backward, holding his cheek. 

“What the hell? Draco, can’t you keep a leash on your new fuck toy?”

“You raped her! What the hell are you doing here?” I yell at him. The crowd begins to dissipate, leaving the three of us standing alone. 

“Raped who? What the hell are you talking about?” Zabini asks. He looks completely clueless, and it only makes me angrier. I don’t really care about Ginny per se, but the fact that my child is dead and this man had something to do with it is more than I can bear. 

“Ginny! You raped the mother of my child.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Who told you that?”

“She did!” I yell, lunging for him again, but I feel someone grab my arms before I can reach him. “Did you forget already?”

“I think what Mr Potter is trying to say, Blaise, is that Ginevra failed to mention that she was having an affair.”

I turn and see the cold, sharp face of Lucius Malfoy and feel sick. This can’t be happening. How the hell did they get in?

“I told you I would be back, Draco. I am a man of my word.”

“What do you want?” Draco snarls, releasing my arms. 

“We’ve had this discussion before; that’s no way to speak to your father. Now, why don’t you come along quietly and we can discuss this like gentlemen.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” If I didn’t feel like the world was on fire, I would remind Draco that I’m proud of him and that he doesn’t have to put up with this shit. But obviously this isn’t the time or place. 

“I think I can persuade you,” Lucius says, and I realise the music is no longer playing. The only sounds are that of Severus and Remus trying to get everyone out of the club before anything happens. I turn to see Ginny standing beside Blaise, her arm wrapped in his and a silver handgun pointed toward us. I feel everything crashing around us, and have no idea what to do. My heart is beating so fast I think it’s going to burst from my chest and flop on the floor like a fish out of water.

“What are you going to do, Father? Kill both of us?”

“If I must,” Lucius says slowly, pointing a gun at Draco. I feel my body reacting immediately, as I move to protect him. I feel his chest brush against my back, both of our body’s tense, ready to snap with the slightest pressure added. 

“Put the guns down!” I hear someone yell. I don’t want to take my eyes of Blaise or Lucius, but part of me needs to know who else has a firearm. 

I turn and look quickly and see Sirius circling us. His face is set and his body tense just like everyone else. The gun in his hand is dark, unlike the ornamental pieces in Lucius’ and Blaise’s hands. The chrome glints in the lights of the club and the room becomes bright. This is no longer a nightclub… 

“Are you going to shoot all of us, Father?”

“I will if I have to! You should have died a long time ago.”

“You’re too much of a coward to kill anyone,” Draco spits. “You have people like Blaise for that.”

“I’m sure Pettigrew would disagree with you, Draco. Where are you, Severus? Don’t you want to hear how your friend Peter begged for me to spare him?” 

“You only have two options, Lucius. You can leave and drop this, or you can tempt fate a second time and finally pay for your crimes,” Severus says, his voice a low warning. 

“You only have one gun, Severus.” A devious smile creeps across Lucius’ face. 

“You underestimate this situation, Lucius. You only see one gun.”

“Enough talk! Draco is coming with me.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“Don’t be like your parents, Harry. That noble attitude is what got them killed.”

“What are you talking about? They died in a car crash.” I need answers. I need answers like I’ve never needed anything before. 

“Yes, a car crash…” he says with a malevolent laugh, dismissing my limited knowledge. “No, Harry. Fenrir took care of both of them for me. You see, they were Tom Riddle’s security, and I needed Riddle taken care of and they stood in my way.”

I feel my chest tighten and want to hurt this man more than ever before. “What— Why?”

“Because he’s a power hungry idiot,” Severus begins. “He wasn’t old enough to be governor; in nineteen eighty-five, Lucius was young and wanted more power. As Lieutenant Governor, if Riddle died of natural causes, then he could take his place. After finishing his term, he was re-elected for two more…”

“But he didn’t die of natural causes, did he, Lucius?” Remus asks, cornering the man with his secrets.

“Of course not. Fenrir was such an asset; it‘s a shame he’s dead. He and Mulciber had a tragic car accident, though.” It never fails to amaze me how silky Lucius’ voice remains through admitting to murder and conspiracies to murder. I’m blinded by rage at the knowledge that he is the one behind my parents’ deaths. Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?

“Why did you have my mother killed?” Draco asks. The longer I stand, watching as all of this unfolds, the less feeling I have in my body. 

“She was having an affair with Riddle!” Lucius yells, his cool demeanour finally cracking. “She served her purpose, but you didn’t turn out quite like I expected. You were supposed to keep the Malfoy name in power in the capital, not be some—”

“I suggest you shut your mouth while you can, Lucius. The authorities are already on their way,” Remus says. “We know enough now. You killed Lily and James because they were suspicious of you. They were right, and no one listened.”

“Enough!” Lucius yells, his voice reverberating through the nearly empty room. 

Everyone remains still, only reacting when the heavy sound of running feet disrupts the silence. “Ginny? Ginny, what the hell are you still doing here? You said you were leaving!”

“Leave, Bill. None of this concerns you,” Ginny says, her voice cold.

“What? How does it concern you?”

“I’m not leaving Blaise,” she says stubbornly. 

“Who the hell is he?”

“Apparently I’m her rapist,” Blaise says, gripping Ginny tightly by the arm. 

“Let her go,” Bill pleads.

“Why did you lie to him, Ginny?” Blaise demands, his voice hard. “Why didn’t you just say, ‘I’m fucking someone else’?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“But you didn’t mind lying to him to hurt me…”

“Ginny, let’s get out of here. This has nothing to do with us.”

“She’s staying with me, Bill.”

The creepy feeling of slow motion begins as Bill grabs Blaise and tries to wrestle the gun from his grip, and Lucius’ laughter echoes in the room. I back up, feeling Draco against me, and as if the strange tension couldn’t get any more surreal, I feel a dull pain erupt in my shoulder. It begins to blossom, quickly becoming unbearable as I rock on my heels and feel my body connect with the floor. It hurts. I’ve never felt anything like this. It burns, and I feel cold, looking down to see a river of crimson on my shirt. I don’t know what’s going on around me, it’s all a blur of confusion, and then two loud cracks echo into the room. More shouting and I lay my head on the floor, not having the strength to try to get up again. 

“Harry? Harry! Open your eyes, Harry!”

Bang. Bang.


	29. Epilogue: I Love You

Chapter 29: Epilogue: I Love You  
Draco’s POV – 24 December 2005

 

The ambulance shifts, and the road beneath the large conveyance causes jostling with each movement. The two medics talk back and forth, quickly issuing orders to one another. Harry’s shirt is removed, the wound on his upper-body still bleeding. I feel the panic rise and fall in short, piercing waves as they place an oxygen mask around his nose and mouth. The wound isn’t deadly – it can’t be. 

My hands shake, tormenting the rest of my body as I try to remain calm. The game isn’t working any more, and I’ve tried to fight the welling weakness to no avail. There’s nothing left for me to do, except wait. I am the fish on land, seeking the sleek sanctuary of water, a place where I can breathe and move freely. I want to feel normal again; I want my heart to stop trying to pound its way through my chest. Harry. I can smell the coppery tang of blood as it seeps into the gauze, making my stomach turn with each burst of speed on the dark highway. St Mungo’s suddenly feels too far away. Damn you, Lucius. Why?

We arrive at St Mungo’s and they hurry Harry inside. I stand alone, watching as everyone around me seems to have a purpose, a place to be. I finally collapse against a nearby chair, willing the pain of the evening to leave.

I am completely powerless. 

Sometimes the world fails to make sense. Everything shifts within a matter of seconds, stealing away everything you know and feel comfortable with. I have never felt so utterly powerless over a situation before. While my world hasn’t made sense for a long time, it started to when Harry came into my life. There are always milestones, events that shape and mould who we are, like fine brushes and delicate oils and watercolours against canvas. All that I’ve known of my father has been a lie, save for his insanity. As though the bough breaking could somehow change how I feel about the man, it has happened. Floodwaters of confusion and despair wash over me as I sit in an uncomfortable leather chair, green, with white accents around the edges. The armrests are hard and only serve to keep me awake, reminding myself that this could all end as soon as I see Harry again. I didn’t know anything about father’s involvement with his parents’ deaths. Had I known, I would have stayed away. I would have stuck to my personal truth that trusting people is overrated, and that I can only depend on myself in the end. Why I have allowed Severus and Remus so much trust is beyond me. 

I haven’t slept all night. My clothes are grimy with dried blood and the hospital smells of sickness and sterility. No one has allowed me to see Harry, and no one has brought news, irritating me further. My head hurts and I want a bath; that isn’t too much to ask, is it? I feel so tense that I could break with the slightest movement, bending and collapsing with any outside pressure. I hope Harry is all right, there was so much blood... His skin was cold and clammy to the touch; his eyes closed and unresponsive. It’s a good thing that Remus wasn’t lying about the authorities, because shortly after Harry hit the floor, police stormed in with medics in tow. This isn’t exactly how I planned to spend Christmas Eve; I wanted to make love to Harry and give him the only gift that really means anything… I didn’t want to be in a hospital wondering if Harry is all right. I hear the approach of footsteps, wondering if someone is going to take me in for questioning of some sort. I don’t bothering looking up; it will just speed up the inevitable. 

“He’s dead.”

I turn to look at Severus, horrified. He can’t be dead. The bullet hit him in the shoulder! No. This can’t be happening. 

“He means your father, Draco. Jesus, Severus, can’t you be a little more sensitive?” Remus says, cuffing Severus as he takes a seat next to me. 

“My apologies. It’s been a long night; I didn’t think about my words.”

“How is he?”

“Resting. They removed the bullet, but he’s not going to have much use of his right arm for a while,” Remus replies. 

I exhale heavily, feeling relief spread through me. “Can I see him?”

“Yes, but first we would like to address a few things. Your involvement in this has been minimised for your protection, same as Harry’s. It’s going to take some time to sort the details completely, but we’ll clear it up." 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” I ask, confused.

“Would you have?”

“Yes! It’s not like it hurt you to tell him the damn truth. Hell, you should have told me the truth!”

“Draco, if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t say that. And as far as telling you the truth, it didn’t matter as long as you were safe. Your father’s true intentions may never be known and we are all probably better off without that knowledge. His addiction to cocaine and alcohol was slowly eating away at him, and the longer you were away from him, the better your chances of success in life. Don’t make this about fairness and deception, because it was always about protection.”

Would I tell him? I think I would have delayed the details in much the same way that Remus and Severus have. It’s not in my nature to give truth; instead, I would rather skirt the details and let people make up their own deluded stories regarding my life. Maybe this sudden bout of chivalry comes from Harry. In the current situation, maybe it’s best to admit that I am truly a selfish creature. Even asking Harry to move in was selfish on my part; I wanted him closer, to spend more time with him. Although I find it perfectly reasonable to say that for once, I do care, and in lieu of false pretences, I can admit defeat. “Maybe you’re right.” I exhale heavily. “But I do know him and I still think you should have said something,” I mutter under my breath. I could care less if Severus actually hears me, but saying the words makes me feel better. 

“Draco, do you want to know what happened?” asks Severus, his voice uncharacteristically softened by the events of the evening.

I nod as he takes the empty seat on opposite side of me. While I hated the man, he was still my father. I can’t take back the years of verbal torment, but there were some good times mingled in with the bad. 

“When Bill grabbed Blaise, Lucius aimed straight for you. Since Harry was still standing in front of you, he was hit in the upper part of his chest. The doctors had to operate to remove the bullet, but he’s fine. He won’t be doing any heavy lifting or exercise for some time, but he’ll be fine. Sirius was hit as well, but he killed your father. You don’t know everything, and this is the same story Harry will hear when he is coherent enough,” Severus begins.

“Phoenix Security International is the company that Sirius works for, as did Harry’s parents. The company offers protective services to aristocrats and politicians mainly, since that’s who could afford their expertise. I don’t know all the details, because apparently there are some things even I don’t know. But since he was hired to protect you, he wounded your father first. When Lucius refused to give up the fight… I’m sure you can guess the rest,” Remus says, his voice calm and eerie. All of this new information is overwhelming, but I don’t want to interrupt; they might not continue if I do.

“Remus used to work for Phoenix Security and was wounded the night that Lily and James were killed. Because Fenrir worked for them too, and was the source of the information that Lucius needed, he turned traitor – forsaking all of his oaths as an officer of the organisation – and became a mercenary. After a long fight, Fenrir finally ended up getting the upper hand and crushed Remus’ knee, leaving him with a limp for life. That was twenty years ago. It wasn’t until Fenrir realised that Lucius had Bella killed for her involvement in getting you away that he really began to pave his own path. 

“In the many years since everything happened, I can’t say most of it makes any sense to me, but then again, it wasn’t until Lily and James were killed alongside Riddle that anyone started to look deeper. It isn’t easy to find evidence against a governor in order to put him in jail, at least not at that time. We had to wait until we had enough, and even then Lucius was so good at covering his trail. Mulciber and Fenrir were great at their jobs, and since neither of them had any motive to betray him, neither of them did. As Lily and James’ will stated, we remained quiet, doing what we had in our power. Rebuilding an organisation from the ground up after its leaders die is a hard thing to do. New recruits were harder to come by and even then, it was just Remus and Sirius. 

“We suspected that Lucius would be around soon, but when I received the donation, the solicitor said that the benefactor preferred to remain anonymous. Now his name as an anagram was so obvious, but sometimes I fail to see the obvious. Just as I never expected you and Harry to become so close. While your relationship was cause for much grief, I believe that you both needed it. You, Draco, needed to learn how to trust someone, and Harry needed to know that not everyone is as innocent as they seem. I realise that you didn’t know what was going on, but we thought it was the best way to handle things. We finally got a man inside Lucius’ office, but Peter wasn’t as successful as we’d hoped at gaining information. It would seem that Zabini kept him on his toes, never allowing him a moment alone.”

“What happened to Blaise?” I ask, feeling my anger return. How Harry’s ex was mixed up with him, I’ll never know. It would seem that we are connected in more ways than one… Realising now that Blaise was my first, and that Ginny brought herpes home to Harry, I feel nauseous. So it was him all along, Adrian just happened to be in the same boat. We have all just been passengers in a sinking ship for a long time, it seems. All of these strange connections are confusing, but as long as Harry doesn’t blame me for things, I don’t care. I need the security of him being close – I need him in a way I never would have expected. 

“Zabini is in custody. When you left with Harry, we joined Rufus Scrimgeour, a former agent with Lily and James, and told him everything. While Blaise was clueless about your father’s involvement in the past, he was well aware of his actions recently. He is going to take the fall for your father’s death. Regardless of the truth, his only option is to stick to the deal we drafted. Ginny is connected because after meeting Zabini, they had plans to use her money to set up his campaign for a real office position; he didn’t want to be Lucius’ shadow any more.”

“Christ! Remus, who was that man at the theatre?”

Remus’ face pulls tightly and he exchanges a look with Severus before beginning. “That was Fenrir.”

“Why didn’t he want to hurt me? That’s what he said.”

“He thought you might have some information about your father. He was set on revenge and nothing more.”

“And his relationship with Bill?”

“It was all a ruse to get closer to you and Harry,” Remus says. “He didn’t have a decent or caring bone in his body. He was trained to manipulate all situations to his favour and that’s what he did with Bill.”

“Who let them into the theatre?”

“Bill,” Severus says with a growl.

“Why? I—I can’t see why he would do that.”

“Apparently he was suffering financially due to some bad investments, and when Ginny offered to pay him to prop open the back door, he took the opportunity.”

“Fuck! Remind me to shake Sirius’ hand the next time I see him,” I say, losing myself in thought. I’ve never been incredibly strong, or brave, and remembering the sound of gunfire crackling in the air, and the warm blood that seeped like claret from Harry’s body, sends a shiver down my spine. Then I remember some of the smaller things, Ginny’s presence, and her lies. “What happened to Ginny?”

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling she won’t bother Harry anymore,” Remus replies, his voice a mixture of frustration and fatigue.

“Why do you say that?”

“Harry knows about her lies now. She’d be stupid to come around. He’s already paid her her share from the sale of the flat. There’s no reason for her to come back and if she does, we can take care of it then. It’s best just to try to move on and rebuild. While Harry can’t replace the child he lost, you both can grow together. You said you were in love with him, Draco, then tell him. Don’t make him wonder, because he’s stubborn and won’t tell you how he feels without prompting.”

“If she ever even was pregnant…” I say offhandedly, feeling scorn toward the stupid woman and her lies. To tell Harry that she was raped is utterly foul, and I loathe the ginger-haired wench even more. 

“If you had seen the look on Harry’s face when he told us about their visit to the doctor, then yes, I’d imagine she was. What happened is anyone’s guess. Just forget it and move on. There’s no sense in dwelling on these things. You can change your name back and finally stop hiding,” Remus says, his face soft. 

“Harry’s in room four, down that hall. But for heaven’s sake, change your clothes before you go in there,” Severus says, tossing me a fresh shirt and pair of trousers. I would hug him if I didn’t feel the crisp flakes of dried blood clinging to my skin harshly. I welcome the freedom to move around; sitting in that damn chair all night has made my legs stiff and eager to move. The prickling sensation of blood flow makes my feet feel like they are on springs, bouncing toward my destination with the kind of anticipation a child feels on their birthday. Thankfully, there is a bathroom between the waiting area and Harry’s room. I clean up as best I can before finally making my way to the room. I knock softly, hearing nothing on the other side. A large, oak-coloured door greets me on my right and I’m immediately aware that this room is nothing like the corridors and lobby. Instead of greenish-blue papering, maroon lines the walls, radiating warmth from all directions. While it isn’t a colour I would choose for a hospital room, it’s better than the horrible greenish-blue throughout the rest of St Mungo’s facilities. 

Harry’s bed is in the middle of the room, with pale floors that don't match the doors. Aside from the pallor of Harry’s cheeks, he looks as good as always. His hair is messy as usual and I can see the bandages on his shoulder, his arm in a sling, resting across his stomach as he breathes slowly, as though sleeping. The first signs of morning begin to creep through the large window on the left side of the room and highlight Harry’s features softly. I take a seat beside the bed, looking around the empty room. This is not the ideal place to spend Christmas Eve, but at least Harry is alive. 

“I hope you don’t blame me,” I begin softly, not wanting to wake his peacefully sleeping form. “You know, when I met you, I had no idea all of this would happen. I never expected to fall for you, or want to share my past with you. I’ve never been so close to someone, but I constantly feel like there’s never enough time to tell you everything. Have you ever felt that?” I take a deep breath, feeling like the only way to tell him how is if he is asleep. At least if he’s asleep he can’t reject me – or maybe I’m afraid he will reciprocate my feelings. “I love you, Harry.”

“You’re just saying that 'cause your father shot me,” he mumbles. When the hell did he wake up? I feel like running away, or kissing him, but his words sting a bit as they sink in.

“I don’t idly profess my feelings for people, Potter. You’d think you could have a little more respect for that.”

“Draco?”

I sit silently for a moment trying to decide what I want to do now. He’s caught me; I’m apparently not as lucky as I was the last time. I’m a little hurt by his dismissal; I’ve just told him I love him, and all he can say is my name. I grunt in response and hear him moving. When I finally look up, I see his brilliant green eyes, half lidded and his cheeks slightly reddening. 

“Can you help me? My back itches and I can’t reach it,” he says pitifully. 

I sigh, trying not to show my disappointment. Maybe it was foolish to think that he could love me. He leans forward slightly, but whatever medications they have him on are making him sluggish. 

“Where at?”

“Just right here, behind my right shoulder,” he says and I lean over, trying not to disturb the bandages. He moans softly as I carefully rake my nails across the covered skin. I look at him, feeling myself drifting away in his eyes. He smiles and leans in kissing me softly, albeit clumsily. Just feeling his lips against mine makes my heart flutter, and then his free hand cups my cheek. He’s so warm and then he kisses me again, and pulls away. Our eyes lock, and after an eternity, he whispers, “I love you, too.”

“You were asleep,” I state. 

“When?”

“Nothing, Harry,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. 

I feel a rush of excitement, the kind of burning need that grows until the flames are so overwhelming you can feel the heat yards away. I rest my forehead against his, feeling an odd flutter of energy pass between us. It tickles, but at the same time, it’s redeeming. Such a simple touch feels like heaven and somewhere inside me, the pieces that never seemed to connect all come together. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t hear me the first time I said it, what matters is he heard it this time. 

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” he says before easing himself back to the bed. His voice is misty and ethereal as he settles in comfortably, and I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy. The circumstances that brought us together were less than perfect, but I can’t say there is a moment anymore perfect than this. 

“It is…” I say before sitting back down and waiting. What I’m waiting for, I don’t know. But it just seems right. I’m in no hurry to leave and in a fit of romantic notions, I reach out and take Harry’s free hand, feeling his hot fingers thread between mine. I sit back, closing my eyes for a few moments, basking in the warmth of this new development. I don’t want to sleep, no matter how tired I am, so I look at Harry again, a faint smile on his face, and soft snores dancing into the room. 

The sound of the door opening startles me into waking. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but the weight of everything finally became too much, it seems. 

“Good morning,” a young woman says. She’s plain looking, with a soft smile. 

“Morning,” I reply groggily. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten o’clock.”

She continues bustling about the room, checking vitals, making notes in a chart, and looks at me. “Does he have a change of clothes? We’re going to release him.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll go check.”

It takes me a moment to get up, but I make my way to the lobby where Remus and Severus are still sitting. 

“They’re going to release him; do you have some clean clothes for him?”

Remus tosses me a bag and I barely catch it. I just want to sleep, but I want Harry to be safe and at home before I even think about resting. The fog of sleep hangs heavily over me as I make my way back to Harry’s room. Inside the doctor is speaking to Harry, but I simply wait in the back until he’s done. 

“Do you need any help getting dressed?” the nurse asks, her face podgy like a cherub. 

“Draco?”

“I’m here, Harry.”

“No, but thanks,” he replies to the woman and she follows the doctor out the door. 

“I’ll be right back with a chair,” she says as the door closes. 

“Can you stand up?” I ask, making my way toward the bed. 

“I think so; I feel like shit,” he says, slipping the sling off his right arm. The limb dangles without any of his muscles tending to its supportive needs and I feel some lingering anger toward Lucius, even if he is dead. He did this to Harry, but at least he paid for his transgressions. 

“I’d imagine. Here, let me help you.”

“What kind of shirt did you bring? Doctor says I can’t wear anything that moves my arm to put on.”

“It’s a button-down,” I reply, letting him mumble. He’s so cute when he’s drugged up and nearly naked. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I’d ravage him. I’m selfish, but I’m not callous. The last thing Harry needs is me trying to take advantage of this situation.

“Little help?” he mutters, pointlessly reaching for the ties of his gown with his left arm. Movements like a robot drained of all its resources bring a smile to my face. If I think too much about what’s going on, I might find that this is all too much. It’s over now, at least according to Remus and Severus. This isn’t exactly the ending I envisioned, but I’ll take it for what it is. 

“Stop, Harry, let me get it.”

The feel of his hot skin beneath my fingers is intoxicating. I know that even these touches, as simple as they are, mean a lot to us both. I place a soft kiss on his shoulder while working the material over his arm. With feather light touches, he melts beneath my hand, his skin trembling and his voice a soft, whimper. 

“Does it hurt?” I ask, carefully dressing him. 

“A little,” he says noncommittally. “Draco, is all of this shit over?”

“Yeah, it’s over.”

“Your father?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. He made his choices.”

“You don’t regret anything?”

“No, why would I? Do you?”

“No. I’m glad things worked out this way,” he slurs. I feel him lean against me, and I gingerly wrap him in my arms, wishing in some way that we could start over from another time, a time when things weren’t so complicated. He wobbles slightly, trying to get his legs into the cottony material. “Help me with my trousers, will you? I can’t button the damn things.”

I chuckle at his soft demands, assisting in whatever way I can. When the nurse comes back into the room, Harry leans against me, using me as a base of support, a second spine, and I am comfortable with that. After signing all of the appropriate release forms, Harry is wheeled downstairs to the entrance where Remus is already waiting with a car. The club will be closed for some time, at least until all of the investigations are complete. I don’t care how Severus kept me out of it, but he has so far, and I am grateful. I wouldn’t know the first place to start. As we step into the brisk December day, a soft flutter of snow begins its descent over the city. It never snows for long here, so I cherish the sight for as long as I can before Severus huffs in irritation.

A quote comes to mind as we seem to glide along the highway back to Slytherin Tower. ‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.’ Spoken so many years ago, the words apply to my father in a way that I can only begin to imagine. He had it all, but that wasn’t enough. The stakes eventually become so high that there is no turning back and in his case, I believe that he didn’t think about the consequences of his actions. If I ever learnt anything from the man, I can say that it is to always think about the consequences of your actions. He failed to do that, but I won’t. I will become the better man and not let the past dictate my future. 

Heavier flakes of snow are falling now, accumulating in the corners of windscreen, the blades swiping it away before the process starts all over again. I turn to look at Harry, his head bobbling softy from side to side and a furtive sigh escaping his red lips. Seeing him brings a smile to my face; the knowledge that I nearly lost him begins to eat away at me and I try to shove the thoughts away. There is no need to think that way; I didn’t lose him. There will be a time for discussions, but now isn’t one of them. Maybe in a few days he will be ready for that, but for now, I want to slide in bed next to him and listen as he breathes almost silently against me, and taste his breath as it feeds the emotional starvation I’ve endured for so long. 

Once inside the elevator, I offer as much support to Harry as I can muster. My own strength is fading and the need to sleep is becoming stronger with each passing moment. When we finally reach the top floor, I lead Harry to the bedroom and help him strip his shirt and trousers. Adjusting the pillows on the bed, I help him down and place a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll make us something to eat.”

“I’m not all that hungry. But thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just want to sleep.”

“All right. I’m going to eat something; don’t wait for me, Harry. Get some rest.”

“'Kay,” Harry replies, closing his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, Harry.”

I barely eat a bite of my eggs, but I think it’s the anxious feeling in my gut, the excitement of Harry returning my affections that is making it nearly impossible to swallow anything. When I finally give up in my attempts to eat, I join Harry in bed. I haven’t ever been this happy in my life and I can’t help but watch Harry for a few moments before drifting into my own peaceful slumber.  
~*~*~*~  
One year later…

 

The smell of snow is in the air. All around the city, bright lights and holiday decorations stand guard over the silence of the streets. Spending Christmas Eve alone has to be worse than spending it in a hospital. Considering the circumstances, though, I can’t complain. 

Dinner was good, but it also came with more information about the past. A year ago, my father said that my mother, Narcissa, was having an affair with Riddle. Severus decided it was time to tell me that she did nothing of the sort. Apparently, my father has always just been ‘a complete nutter’ as Harry would say. Everything always seems to come with a price, but I wouldn’t trade any of this. Severus lost touch with my father when my mother died; he didn’t see the point when they were never that close to begin with. I don’t blame him. Ginny ran for the hills after everything; it would seem that she didn't want any association with Blaise after everything that happened. I haven't seen Sirius around for a while, but he stops in at the club from time to time to see how things are. He and Harry had some long talks about his parents after the shooting, which was good for Harry. He needed that closure in his life. 

I pull into the long, gravel driveway, parting the nearly melted snow as the car ploughs through towards my destination. It’s nearly ten o’clock and I feel utterly at peace with the world. The club is doing well, despite the press surrounding the events of last year. My investment continues to grow, and Tonks is still maintaining things quite nicely. I don’t know what I would have done without her help this past year, especially since Harry’s been gone. First New York, after his shoulder was completely healed, and now London. He’s been gone for about three months, coming home twice for weekend visits. 

I’m happy for his success, but he doesn’t seem to like the long hours or the time it takes to make a film. He calls often, reminding me that he will be home by the fifth of January. I miss him, but the phone calls help pass the lonely nights, and even if he isn’t getting paid a lot for the production, he feels that it’s something worthwhile. 

Ahead of me in the drive, two tall lampposts stand, casting luminance over the walkway to our home. Before Harry left for New York, we bought this house together. It’s a haven from all of the darkness in the world, and a place to build new memories and enjoy the company of one another. While we’ve had our share of arguments, we’ve also had our share of absolute happiness as well. Being with Harry has taught me a lot about life, and people in general. Somehow, he’s managed to convince me that being kind or generous isn’t a bad thing, and ever the pragmatist, I avoid over-extending myself in philanthropic endeavours. 

As I get out of the car, I see the lights of our first Christmas tree twinkling through the front windows of our simple abode. I never would have considered living in a place like this before Harry, but now, it feels like home in a way the other places I’ve lived haven’t. There is a distinct smell of our lives mingling together to create the kind of fondness that always leaves me with a smile. I approach the house, taking in the pale façade. I remember seeing it for the first time and slightly wrinkling my nose, but only because Harry pointed it out. The stone structure taunts me as I climb the stairs, the second one creaking as my weight settles against it. The door is white, with three panes of glass stretching across its face, etched with roses. 

Inside, my shoes send an echo through the empty walls as they tap against the dark, walnut-coloured wood. I inhale softly, allowing the flavours of my life to surround me, loving the soft scent of cedar and pine as they mingle in the warm atmosphere. I drop my keys on the table by the door and toe off my shoes before heading to the bedroom. In my state of contentment, I barely notice the soft glow of a candle on the dresser and the tender scent of roses. I stop and look around, startled by the hands encircling my waist. 

“How was dinner?” his voice whispers, and I feel my heart lift. 

“Co-conspirators, the lot of you,” I reply, feeling a smile creep across my face. “It was good. Are you offering dessert?”

“Maybe,” he whispers, turning me in his arms. Now facing one another, I admire the gleam in his eyes as the flame flickers in their jewel-like depths. 

“I thought you weren’t coming home for a few more weeks,” I say, sighing as his fingers trace the line of my jaw. 

“We finished early. I wanted it to be a surprise – an early Christmas gift – so I asked for their help.”

“Mmm, well next time don’t spend so much time away. I’ve missed you,” I say as his lips press against mine, stealing all thoughts and my breath. A blur of sensations overwhelm me as his skin presses against mine for the first time in weeks. The moments between no contact with him feel like an eternity, as he divests me of my clothes and any doubts that lingered with his absence. 

“I love you, Draco,” he says, guiding me to the bed. “I’ve missed you, too.”

There are no words to articulate how I feel, so I show him, paying careful attention to the bend of his elbow, nipping gently at the taut skin, and tracing the silvery scar on his shoulder. I feel his skin ripple beneath my fingertips, and concentrate on feeling and receiving the careful touches he delivers to my skin. I am completely entranced by his lips as they trace my nipples. I arch into him, silently begging for more as his tongue delivers wicked sensations to every part of my body. 

I feel absolutely at peace. The anticipation, while sending me spiralling higher and higher, keeps me grounded. The press of his hips, fingertips digging into my skin, and tongue leaving trails of damning bliss in their wake, all serve to render me senseless. When the grace of all that is good in the world takes me, I release, calling Harry’s name. This is a moment where all seems divine, a reason to pray, a reason to believe that there are higher beings, and that they mete out perfection in small doses. This is my perfection. 

“I love you,” Harry chants with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

“Good,” he says with a chuckle.

“I love you, too,” I offer, stroking his pink cheek softly. 

The parts of a dragon all symbolise something more than their simple functions would have most believe. After thinking about the meanings of a great many things, I’ve come to determine that the tail of most creatures seems to be a point of balance, of stability. I feel safe in saying that it could be said to function as a form of security. In the endless times of instability, one man crippled my world, in a way I can only continue to appreciate with each passing day. I met Harry at The Burrow, but where I found him was at the club, a place of stability and security in my unstable, insecure life. Maybe he found me… For me, it is crucial to believe that all this – this union of our hearts - means something, that it isn’t all some dream I will find myself waking from. 

I will take one day at a time, continually taking and giving strength where needed, and reminding myself that without love, all of this would mean nothing. A soft kiss draws me from my thoughts as Harry wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes, opening them again before smiling. 

It’s not a dream, and that’s all I could ever ask for


End file.
